Mark strode through the parking lot toward the sanctuary of his silver Volvo, hauling his keys out of his pocket as he walked, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the Humiliation Zone as possible. Gwen Adams, the woman he needed, the woman who could solve all his problems, the woman whose grace and refinement would make Tiffany Sloan look like a reality show reject, had just regarded him as if he were something disgusting growing on the underside of a rock. What had ever made him think she'd want anything to do with him?

He reached his Volvo and got inside. Actually, he might have had a chance with Gwen, if only a certain redheaded bartender hadn't gotten in the way. How could she have done that to him? How could she have screwed up his one chance at meeting the woman who could help him reach every goal he'd ever had?

"Mark! Wait!"

He spun around, stunned to see the bartender in question trotting down the sidewalk. Her skirt was too short, her heels too tall, and as she hurried toward him, several strands of her hair pulled loose from the bun at the crown of her head and trailed behind her in streaks of red. She circled his Volvo and skidded to a halt beside the passenger door. She knocked on the window. He shook his head and started the engine. She knocked again, more urgently this time, jabbing her finger toward the lock.

Oh, boy. He did not need this.

With a heavy sigh, Mark reached to the panel beside him and flipped the lock. She yanked the car door open and slid into the passenger seat, closing it beside her with a solid thunk. She turned and stared at him with soft green eyes--eyes that might have seemed really innocent if he hadn't known about the pushy, presumptuous brain that lurked behind them.

He glared at her. "What do you want?"

"Well," she said, shifting around to face him. "I just wanted to tell you that I don't think things are as bad as they look. We haven't done any permanent damage where Gwen is concerned. I think if we--"

"Wait a minute. What's this we stuff?"

"I'm not going to lie to you. That woman is wrong for you. I'd hate to think of the man she'd be right for. But if you're determined to go after her, I suppose..." She paused. "I suppose I'd be willing to help you."

Mark couldn't believe it. This woman was loony. "Help me? Haven't you helped me enough already?"

"I know I was a bit hasty," she admitted. "But if you'll just give me a chance, I'll show you how we can--"

"You keep saying we. This is not a we thing."

"I admit she's going to be a tougher sell than I thought. But when it comes to getting someone’s attention, I'm an expert."

"Experts get things right. You missed this one by a mile."

"Maybe I did this time. But at least I took action. Were you ever going to get off that stool and go talk to her? Or were you going to spend the whole evening staring at her, then go home and kick yourself for not approaching her?"

He hated to admit it, but she was right. Gwen had paralyzed him, making him feel like the unsophisticated small-town guy he was. Still, did that give this woman the right to butt in?

"I just miscalculated a little," she went on. "That's all. But if you'll give me another chance, I know I can help you."

"I don't get it. Why do you want to help me?"

She smiled. "Practice. See, I'm going to be a clinical psychologist some day. Couples therapy. Helping people is my destiny."

Destiny? What in the hell was she talking about? "No. You can't help me. You don't even know me."

"Of course I know you. You've been sitting at my bar for a couple of weeks now."

"No," he corrected, pointing an accusing finger at her, "that does not mean you know me. And still you came running out here and jumped right into my car. That's a very dangerous thing to do. That's how women get abducted and murdered."

Her mouth turned up in an amused grin. "So you're a dangerous man?"

Mark sighed inwardly. Dangerous man? Just once he'd love to have a woman think so. Instead, he'd always been the kind of shy, unassuming guy that would make overprotective fathers put their shotguns away on prom night and forget all about curfews.

"Oh, yeah. Give me the tax code and an Excel spreadsheet, and I'm the most dangerous man you've ever met."

She smiled again. "I'll keep that in mind next April."

Yeah, he could spin circles around a tax return, all right. And right now he'd trade the majority of that knowledge for the ability to utter one charming, sophisticated sentence to a charming, sophisticated woman without feeling as if she saw "Waldon Springs" plastered across his forehead in neon lights.

She leaned toward him, a conspiratorial look on her face. "What if I told you I know a way you can get Gwen's undivided attention for at least fifteen minutes and be a hero in her eyes at the same time?"

Yeah, and pigs were going to sprout wings and head for the clouds. "I'd say you're nuts. Now, would you mind getting out of my car?"

"I'm serious! I can tell you how to do it!"

Mark let out an exasperated sigh. It appeared that if he wanted her out of his car, he was going to have to do one of two things: Forcibly remove her, or listen to her crazy advice.

"Okay," he said, glancing at his watch. "You've got two minutes. Tell me."

"It's kind of complicated. Two minutes is not enough--"

"Sorry. It's all I've got." He started the car.

"No! Wait!"

He turned and glared at her, the engine idling softly.

"It's just that I'm supposed to be in there working," she went on, "not out here chatting, and it will take a little time to tell you what I have in mind. Gwen's a regular. She usually comes in about 6:30. If you'll come by about 6:00 tomorrow night, I'll explain everything."

"Don't you have to work when you're at work?"

"It's okay. If I know in advance, I can get someone to cover for me."

Mark started to tell her for the third time that their conversation was over, only to find her looking at him with such a hopeful, expectant gaze that his resolve wavered. A curly strand of hair fell across her face, which she brushed away, only to have it fall against her cheek again. She had three piercings in each ear filled with an assortment of silver stars. Her form-fitting knit top was cut a bit too low, her skirt a bit too high, and he'd be willing to bet that somewhere on her voluptuous body she had a tattoo. Just a small, unobtrusive one that said "body ornament" without saying "biker's chick." He could imagine her lounging in a tattoo parlor, selected parts of her body exposed, as some guy named Vinny permanently etched a happy face on her hip, or maybe a rosebud on the swell of her breast...

Good God--what was wrong with him? What was he doing taking a mental tour of her body in search of tattoos? For all he cared, she could have a skull and crossbones on a body part polite people didn't talk about.

"There's no point in going any further with this," he told her. "You can't help me. Gwen's different. She's--"

"No. That's where you're wrong. When it gets right down to it, she's no different from any other woman. If you know which buttons to push, she's yours."

She's yours. Mark fought to quell the tiny rush of excitement he felt when he heard those words, as if Liz really was offering him the key to his future. She made it sound so easy. Just a little button-pushing.

No. You know it won't be that easy. This woman is nuts. Run. Save yourself while you still can.

"No," he said. "I'm not coming back here tomorrow night."

"Are you sure about that?"

He opened his mouth to say, again, that of course he was sure, when all at once he thought about Gwen, and about how bright his future would be if she were by his side. But there wasn't a thing this woman could do to make it happen.

"Of course I'm sure. I'm not coming."

She smiled.

"I said I'm not coming."

Her smile widened even more. Did she have a hearing problem?

"Did you hear me? I will not be here!"

"I'll see you at six o'clock."

She got out of his car and trotted back across the parking lot, leaving Mark sitting behind the wheel of his Volvo, his teeth clenched with frustration. She dodged a black Mercedes coming into the parking lot, then hopped onto the sidewalk and scurried toward the door of the club, her skirt swishing back and forth in rhythm with her high-heeled strides.

If audacity were a crime, he'd certainly collected enough evidence to convict her of it now. She actually expected him to come back there tomorrow night for his first class in Attracting the Opposite Sex. What did she think he was? Crazy? Desperate? Even more off-the-wall than she was?

If you know which buttons to push, she's yours.

Mark froze, his hands on the steering wheel, staring at the dashboard. Liz's words echoed around in his head, taunting him with the possibilities, and just for a moment he thought maybe...

No. He had no business having anything to do with a pushy, underdressed bartender who undoubtedly watched dumb reality shows, drank beer from a bottle, and painted her toenails purple. A woman like that wouldn't have the slightest idea how to attract a woman like Gwen. She'd screwed up his life enough already. Why give her the opportunity to add insult to injury?

He started his car and headed toward home, telling himself that his situation would have to get a whole lot more desperate before he'd even think about accepting help from a crazy woman. There was no way was he was coming back there tomorrow night.

No way.

---

"Let's get something straight right off the bat," Mark said, as he slid onto a stool at the bar the next evening at precisely six o'clock. "I'm here to listen. That's all. If you tell me to do anything that sounds ineffective, or off-the-wall, or just plain weird, I'm outta here."

Liz gave him one of her ultrabright smiles. "Hello, Mark. It's good to see you, too. Can I get you a drink?"

I was insane to come here, Mark told himself. Totally and completely insane.

All day long at work he'd stuck to his guns, telling himself he was not going to go there tonight. Then before Sloan left for the day, he stopped by Mark's office to rub his nose in the fact that he and Tiffany were meeting one of the partners and his wife for dinner after work. As he walked away with that annoying little chuckle of his, Tina had taken out her frustration by making a highly inappropriate gesture behind his back that highlighted one of her long, pink fingernails. Mark wished his own frustration could have been as easily soothed. Desperate to find a way to beat Sloan at his own game, he'd headed for Simon's again in spite of his vow to avoid it at all costs.

"No," he told Liz. "I don't want a drink. I want to get down to business."

Liz inched closer and rested her forearms against the bar in front of him, a conspiratorial grin on her face. "Wait till you hear my plan. It'll knock your socks off."

If he emerged from this experience minus only a pair of socks, he'd consider himself lucky. “

"Okay," he said, hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. "Tell me what you have in mind."

---

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Mark muttered as he strode through Simon's parking lot alongside Liz, berating himself with every step. "What if somebody catches us?"

"That's why you're going to be my lookout," Liz said. "Just tell me if somebody comes."

"What if a cop drives by?"

Liz rolled her eyes. "A cop's not going to drive by. You're not going to jail, and you're not going to hell. Didn't you ever do this when you were a teenager?"

"God, no."

"Did you ever toilet paper a house?"

"Nope."

"Egg a few windows?"

"Of course not."

"What did you do?"

Mark shot her an irritated look. "Where I went to school, vandalism wasn't a prerequisite for graduation."

"Yeah, that's the problem with education these days. They don't teach real-world skills."

Mark had always wondered what teenage vandals were like when they grew up. Now he knew. They grew into adult vandals.

"There it is," Liz said, pointing toward a dark blue Beemer at the back of the parking lot.

"You're sure it's her car?"

"I'm sure."

Mark was glad Gwen had arrived late this evening. She'd been relegated to the back of the lot next to a very large SUV, which thankfully would help shield them from sight. Little did she know, though, that while she sat inside sipping a glass of wine, her car was becoming a crime statistic.

When they reached the car, Liz looked left and right for witnesses, then ducked down beside the rear tire. A few seconds later Mark heard the hiss of air escaping.

"This is crazy," he whispered.

"Will you lighten up? I'm letting air out of a tire, not committing murder.”

The hissing seemed to go on for hours, but the only people Mark saw were on the other side of the lot, filtering in and out of the club. Her mission finally accomplished, Liz stood up and gave Mark a big grin. "It's a perfect plan, isn't it? No woman can ignore a man who comes to her rescue. Even Gwen."

As they hurried back across the parking lot, Mark had to admit Liz's plan had possibilities. Gwen would find her flat tire, become understandably distressed, and then he'd just happen to come along to change it for her, thereby rescuing her, thereby earning her gratitude and goodwill, and--

"Wait a minute!" Mark grabbed Liz's arm and pulled her to a halt. "This is never going to work. She's going to remember me from last night. She'll blow me off again, flat tire or no flat tire."

Liz dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. "Nah. Guys hit on her all the time. She won't remember."

"I think she will."

"If you're worried, just take your glasses off. She won't recognize you then."

"If I can't see, I won't recognize her either."

Liz held out her hand. "Give them to me."

"No! I'm not going to--"

"You're right. She might recognize you. Do you want one strike against you before you even get started?"

Mark glared at Liz, then yanked his glasses off and put them in her hand. She stepped back five paces and held up two fingers.

"How many?"

Mark squinted. "Two."

"Right."

"Plus the two beside them makes four."

Liz folded his glasses and tucked them into her apron pocket. "No problem. Whatever you see, just divide it in half. You're an accountant. You can probably do the math in your head."

He stared at her, dumbfounded. "Don't take this wrong. Liz. But you're nuts."

"Now, I resent that," she said, a smile playing across her lips. "I'm not nuts. Sometimes I just think outside the box."

No kidding. This woman was so far outside the box that no force in the universe could stuff her back inside.

"Now, do you remember what I told you to do?" Liz asked.

"I can handle it."

"I know you can." She smoothed his jacket lapels, then gave his cheek a friendly pat. He blinked with surprise, then reminded himself that Liz was just one of those overly friendly, touchy-feely types and it didn't mean a thing. Still, he noted how warm her hand felt, and he had the fleeting thought that he wouldn't mind it staying there a little longer.

"But it might be a good idea to get that uptight look off your face," Liz added.

Mark closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to relax. Why was this so hard?

Because he was from the Lucky Seven Trailer Park in Waldon Springs, Tennessee--a place women like Gwen saw only in their worst nightmares. And she was going to know right away, just as she did last night, that he wasn’t the kind of guy for her.

"How many psychologists does it take to change a light bulb?" Liz asked.

Mark blinked. "Is this a joke?"

"No, I'm from the Society of American Psychologists and I'm taking a poll. Of course it's a joke."

"Then spare me, will you? I can do without humor right now."

"Wrong. I think you need all the humor you can get."

She continued to stare at him until he sighed with resignation. "Okay. I'll bite. How many psychologists does it take to change a light bulb?"

"Only one. But it has to really want to change."

In spite of the fact that the joke barely registered on the comedy meter, Mark couldn't help smiling. If Gwen were as easy to talk to as Liz, his communication problems would be solved.

"Bad joke," he said.

"The worst," Liz agreed. She put her hand against his arm, then leaned toward him and dropped her voice. "Rule number one for attracting the opposite sex. Do that more often."

"Do what more often?"

"Smile. Just the way you did right there. Women can't resist it."

Her voice was soft and breathy, and as he glanced down to where her hand rested against his arm, he felt an unexpected flush of warmth, his senses suddenly on red-alert. He jerked his gaze back up, only to have it waylaid by Liz's body-hugging emerald-green top. Odd or not, she had some obvious physical assets a man would have to be in a coma to miss.

Finally he managed to tear his gaze away from her blouse and what lay beneath it, but when he met her soft green eyes, he froze all over again. Caught in her gaze, his heart missed a beat or two, and the warm flush he'd felt the moment she'd touched him had magnified, multiplying the heat of the Florida twilight and making him even warmer than before. As she continued to stare at him with a playful, engaging smile, he could see now that despite her strange wardrobe, her wild, untamed hair and her bizarre thought process, she really was attractive.

Very attractive.

"Mark? Are you okay?"

All at once his neurons woke up and sent a distress signal to his brain. What do you think you're doing? Gwen's the one you need to be thinking about. Remember her? The beautiful, sophisticated woman who's the key to that partnership you desperately want?

"Yeah. I'm fine."

She patted his arm. "Good. I thought I'd lost you there for a minute."

He'd been way too long without a woman. That was the problem. But he was at a crisis point in his life right now, and not just any woman would do. He needed someone like Gwen, who was willowy, graceful and model-thin, with a gossamer beauty that oozed elegance. A caviar-and-champagne kind of woman. Liz, on the other hand, was the kind of practical, down-to-earth woman you could share nachos with at a sports bar.

"Uh oh," Liz said, staring past his shoulder.

"What?"

"She's coming out."

Mark spun around to see a person-shaped blob moving out the door of the club. At least he thought it was the door of the club. Without his glasses, it could have been the gates of heaven for all he knew.

"Gwen?" he said. "What's she doing leaving so early?"

"I don't know."

Mark grabbed Liz's arm and pulled her around the back of the building. He peered back around the corner to see Gwen walking briskly across the parking lot. Now that she was closer, he could see her well enough to admire her confident, long-legged strides and the regal set of her chin--a woman who clearly commanded her surroundings.

When Gwen saw her car, she stopped and stared for a moment, as if taking in the fact that it was leaning perceptibly to the right. She circled the car and stopped beside the right rear tire, then planted her fists on her hips and glared down at it.

Liz tapped Mark's arm. "That's your cue. I'm going back inside. Let me know what happens."

It was now or never.

Mark took a deep breath and started across the parking lot, zeroing in on the out-of-focus woman by the blurry blue Beemer. He came up behind her, trying to act nonchalant.

"Excuse me. You seem to be having a problem."

Gwen spun around, her lips set in a firm line of irritation, her ice-blue eyes brimming with annoyance. Even in a state of total irritation she managed to look stunningly beautiful.

"Of course something's wrong," she muttered, giving him one of those are you blind? looks. "I have a flat tire."

Mark leaned over and eyed the pancaked tire as if seeing it for the first time. "Well, look at that. You sure do."

"It's a brand new tire," she said, exasperation flooding her voice. "There's no reason for it to go flat." She checked her watch, looking dismayed. "I'm meeting a girlfriend at the theater tonight. I'll never make it now!"

"I'd be happy to change your tire for you."

Gwen stared at him blankly. "You what?"

"I said I'll change your tire."

It was as if he'd spoken Swahili. "You mean you? You'll change my tire?"

"Uh...yeah."

"Personally?"

Mark felt a glimmer of apprehension. What was it about his offer that she didn't understand?

Then it struck him. He'd just offered to do what she considered to be manual labor. She'd pegged him as one of those people who did their own laundry and cleaned their own toilets. He was one of those people, but he desperately wanted her not to think that. He wanted to come across as a wealthy, sophisticated professional man who would never consider getting his hands dirty, unless, of course, he had to come to the rescue of a woman in distress.

He thought quickly. "I'd call my people to come over and take care of this," he said, not bothering to identify precisely who his "people" were since he didn't have any, "but since you're short on time, why don't I roll up my sleeves and try to get it done a little faster?"

"You actually know how to change a tire?"

"Uh...I watched my mechanic once," Mark told her. "I think I remember how to do it."

Or maybe it was those teenage summers he spent working at Fred's Chevron in Waldon Springs for minimum wage so he could save money for college. Maybe that's what had imparted him with such broad-based knowledge. One or the other.

"How long will it take?" Gwen asked.

"Ten or fifteen minutes."

"Oh?" She checked her watch. "Well, then. I might be able to make that curtain after all. By all means, go ahead."

Mark let out the breath he'd been holding. So far, so good. "If you'll give me the keys to your trunk, I'll get the spare."

"Yes. Of course."

He took her keys, his mind spinning. He knew what Liz had told him to say next, but now as he played the words over in his mind, they sounded desperately dumb and hopelessly contrived. Still, silence wasn't going to get him anywhere, and he certainly couldn't think of anything else to say. He had no choice but to open his mouth and hope for the best.

"I know this flat tire is rather unlucky for you," he told her. "But it's very lucky for me."

Gwen raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

Mark's chest felt so tight he could barely breathe. She's not going to buy this...she's not going to buy this...

"Yes. If you hadn't had a flat tire, I might never have had the opportunity to meet such a beautiful woman."

Gwen blinked with surprise. Mark struggled to maintain the friendly, easy-going smile Liz had counseled him on. Patience, she'd told him. Say the line, then shut up. Keep looking at her, though, as if she's the only woman on earth. If you can do that, whatever she says next won't be a brush-off.

The silence between them seemed to stretch out for an eternity. For an instant he imagined strangling a certain redhead for her goofy advice. Then the most wonderful thing happened.

Gwen smiled.

"Well," she said, actually looking a little flustered. "I guess I'm lucky too. I don't know what I'd have done without you."

Mark felt as if the elephant that had been sitting on his chest had headed off to the watering hole. It's working. Liz's advice is actually working.

"If you hadn't come along, I'd have had to call the auto club," Gwen said, "and I'm afraid I've never felt comfortable around auto mechanics." She put a palm against her chest and crinkled her forehead oh-so slightly, as if the memory made her feel faint. "Their manner, their dress, their personal hygiene--they always leave a bit to be desired."

Mark made a mental note. Buy extra-strength deodorant, shave twice a day, and never, ever have his name embroidered on the pocket of his shirt.

He took off his suit coat and held it out to Gwen. "Would you mind holding this while I change the tire?"

"Certainly."

Gwen took it and draped it over her arm. At the same time Mark caught the faint scent of a warm, exotic, expensive perfume. He would have expected nothing less.

He rolled up his sleeves, then turned to open the trunk. So far, Liz's advice had been right on the money, so he decided he'd stick to it like glue. She'd told him that under no circumstances should he ask Gwen out tonight, because it would look as if he expected something in return for helping her. Then tomorrow night at the club he could strike up a conversation, and she'd remember him as that nice guy who came to her rescue. Then maybe after a date or two, he'd feel comfortable asking her to the firm's dinner dance.

Gwen checked her watch, a look of consternation passing over her face. "Oh my--I really do need to make that eight-fifteen curtain..."

"No problem. I'll have you on the road before you know it."

She smiled at him again, and in that moment he decided he'd push her car all the way to the theater if that's what it took to get her there on time. She was everything he needed in a woman, and sooner or later she was going to be his.

---

Liz didn't realize how much her mind had wandered from her job until she put a cherry in a martini and an olive in a daiquiri. She caught the mistake as soon as she saw her customers' perplexed expressions. She swept the drinks away with a sincere apology and made new ones, checking her watch every thirty seconds or so. What was going on with Mark and Gwen? She thought of going to the window to watch, but the tables by the windows along that side were occupied.

Things had to be going well. How could they not? Gwen might be snooty and condescending, but could she really give the cold shoulder to a guy who was kind enough to change a flat tire for her?

Just about the time Liz decided to grab a broom from the supply closet because surely the sidewalk out front needed sweeping, Mark came back into the club. As he wove through the tables, her heart pounded with anticipation. She searched his face for some indication of what might have happened between him and Gwen, but as he approached the bar, he gave her nothing but a deadpan stare. Her stomach did a nervous flip-flop. He'd be smiling, wouldn't he, if everything had worked out okay?

"Mark? What happened?"

"I need my glasses back."

"Oh! Of course." She patted her apron pockets, then pulled them out and handed them to him. He put them on, then turned and walked away from the bar. Where was he going?

"Mark! Wait!"

He kept walking. Liz ducked beneath the bar and took off after him. She caught up with him as he reached the front door.

"Hey! Wait a minute! You have to tell me what happened! Did my plan work?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Something had gone dreadfully wrong. But what?

"Did you say what I told you to say?"

"Liz--"

"Please tell me."

Mark took a deep, silent breath, then let it out slowly. "Yes. I did."

"And?"

"It worked just fine."

"You're saying it was fine, but obviously--" Liz stopped short. "Oh, God--don't tell me she's married!"

"No, Liz. She's not married."

"Boyfriend?"

"I don't think so. She was on her way to the theater with a girlfriend."

"She's a lesbian?"

Mark gave her an admonishing look. "I said a girlfriend, not her girlfriend."

"You didn't try to ask her out, did you?"

"No. Of course not."

"Well, it's pretty clear something went wrong. Was it something I told you to do?"

"Liz. It's okay. Your advice was perfect. Everything you suggested worked just as you said it would."

Liz was completely befuddled. "Then what?"

"It doesn't matter now. I need to get home."

She inched closer to him and dropped her voice. "Mark, if I did anything to hurt you--anything--I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry." She was surprised at how deeply she felt that, and how desperately she wanted him to believe it.

"It wasn't your fault," he said softly. "And it wasn't Gwen's. It was nobody's fault but mine. Thanks for trying."

With that, he turned and left the bar.