The Last Man on Earth Read online

  NEW YEAR, NEW ROMANCE . . .

  “You can’t leave now—it’s almost midnight. Stay and have some fun, Madelyn. That’s what New Year’s Eve is all about.”

  She hesitated, knowing she ought to tell him good night. Instead, she raised the glass to her lips and took a long, slow sip.

  Time flashed past, their glasses disappeared, and she was in his arms, her head spinning as they whirled to the music, their bodies pressed close in a way she should never have allowed.

  The band played a drumroll to signal the twelve o’clock hour was only moments away. Everyone stilled in a jubilant hush, then began to count backward from ten in a loud, boisterous chorus.

  “. . . five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . Happy New Year!”

  Colorful balloons and gaily striped confetti rained from above as horns tooted and the band swung into a brassy rendition of “Auld Lang Syne.” Amid the glitter and spectacle, people embraced and kissed.

  Zack turned her to him, cupping her face in his hands as he smiled down into her eyes. “Happy New Year, Madelyn.”

  He leaned down and covered her lips with his.

  Also by Tracy Anne Warren

  THE PRINCESS BRIDES ROMANCES

  The Princess and the Peer

  Her Highness and the Highlander

  The Trouble with Princesses

  SIGNET SELECT

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014

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  penguin.com

  A Penguin Random House Company

  First published by Signet Select, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  Copyright © Tracy Anne Warren, 2014

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  SIGNET SELECT and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  ISBN 978-1-101-63632-9

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Also by Tracy Anne Warren

  Title page

  Copyright page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Excerpt from THE MAN PLAN

  For Tony and Mimi

  The new kids on the block

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Cheers to Wendy McCurdy for letting me do a little creative time traveling, and to my wonderfully persistent agent, Helen Breitwieser, for never giving up—good things really do come to those who wait!

  With love to my friends Dorothy McFalls and Jim Johnson on the arrival of baby Avery, their newest “edition.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  “You no-good, low-down, scurvy dog!”

  The door to Zack Douglas’s office flew back hard on its hinges, striking the wall with explosive force. Madelyn Grayson stood framed in the entrance, hands on her hips, her blue eyes bright with rage.

  Zack looked up from the storyboard he’d been making changes to and arched one dark eyebrow.

  “You self-serving piece of scum!” she continued. “You underhanded bottom-feeder! You trough-dwelling, swill-eating pig!”

  He leaned casually back in his leather executive chair and let her insults run off him, harmless as rain. “Good afternoon to you too, Maddie.”

  What a firecracker, Zack thought, watching her practically crackle with anger as she walked toward him, shaking one well-manicured finger his way.

  “Don’t you dare ‘good afternoon’ me, you lowlife. Not after the stunt you pulled today. You must think you’re pretty clever, engineering things the way you did. And don’t call me Maddie. The name is Madelyn or Ms. Grayson to you.”

  Holding back a grin, he took a moment to enjoy the sight of her. She was wearing a plain, pearl gray skirted suit that would have looked dowdy on anyone else but seemed only to increase her attractiveness. Her breasts rose and fell beneath a long, tidy placket of ivory-colored shirt buttons, the effect as sexy as a Hooters girl in a tight tee.

  He lifted his eyes so he didn’t get caught staring and noticed the wisps of red hair that had come loose from the librarian bun she always kept it in. He pictured threading his fingers into the whole luxurious mass, popping and pulling at the pins until her hair came free around her shoulders. After that, he’d go to work on those shirt buttons—

  Careful, he warned himself, interrupting the thought. Don’t get distracted.

  “So, Madelyn, what terrible crime have I committed now?”

  He was quite familiar with her less-than-glowing opinion of his character. She didn’t approve of him or his reputation, the more titillating particulars of which had spread like a raging viral infection through the office grapevine within hours of his arrival at Fielding and Simmons, one of New York City’s leading advertising agencies, some eight months before. Generally he found her reactions amusing. There was nothing quite like watching Madelyn Grayson—all neatly starched, five feet seven inches of her—get completely worked up.

  Especially when it was over him.

  She glared. “As if you don’t know.”

  “Sorry.” He shrugged. “I’m at a loss.”

  “Stop with the innocent act! What you did was sneaky and conniving, and I deserve an apology.”

  “I rarely give apologies, and certainly not for wrongs I didn’t commit. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  She planted her hands on the edge of his desk. “Specific? You want specific? Specifically, it’s about your parading that overgrown jock through my fashion event, knowing he would monopolize everyone’s attention. It was totally contemptible!”

  “Karl Sweeney is a sports superstar. He can’t help the way his fans behave.”

  “Exactly my point. You knew how people would react and deliberately chose that time of day to leave the building.”

  “If you mean I deliberately chose lunchtime to take a client to lunch, and deliberately decided to walk through the lobby on the way out of the building? Then, you’re right. That’s exactly what I did.”

  “Yes, but you set it up. You timed your exit from the building so you and your basketball star would just happen to meet up with Fielding at the perfect moment. A moment designed to get you an invitation to the executive level for lunch.”

  His eyes widened.
“Is that what I did? Engineered lunch for myself in the executive dining room with our CEO? Whoa, that was genius!” He paused, his eyes moving beyond her for a moment. “You might want to close the door, by the way. We’re starting to attract an audience.”

  Madelyn whirled around and saw one of the copywriters walking ever so slowly by in the corridor. She pinned him with a frosty glare, then shut the door. She turned back to Zack. “Now, you were saying?”

  “I wasn’t, actually, but look—the meeting with Sweeney ran a lot longer than expected, okay? He insists on providing his own creative input, and his agent and I managed to work out an arrangement that keeps us all happy, especially Sweeney. We decided to conclude our discussion over lunch and couldn’t help but notice your fashion show in the lobby on our way out. It’s only natural that Sweeney wanted to stop for a closer look.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said sarcastically. “It was all Sweeney’s idea.”

  “Once he got a look at the implants on some of those runway models, I couldn’t pull him away.”

  She crossed her arms defensively over her own very real breasts. “While you, of course, shielded your eyes.”

  Madelyn was well aware of Zack’s penchant for eyeing anything in a skirt, especially a tight one.

  “A man can’t help but look at what’s put right in front of him,” he said with a straight face. “Anyway, one thing led to another, Fielding showed up, and you know the rest. There was nothing calculated or premeditated about it. Nice job, by the by, on the campaign you put together for Evaan. Very slick. It should double his sales.”

  “It’ll triple his sales. I suppose you expect me to thank you for the compliment now, right?”

  He stood and came around the front of his desk to stand beside her. “Only if you want to. I’m not always the villain you make me out to be. The comment was honestly meant.”

  Sunlight streamed in through a modest side window, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw and the beginnings of a five-o’clock shadow. He’d taken off his suit jacket, leaving him in a white shirt and a pair of tailored charcoal gray pinstripe pants. At thirty-two, he was impossibly handsome, beautiful even, with a smile that could melt ice, and hearts. A woman would have to be dead to be immune to his charms. And Madelyn was very much a living, breathing female, though she did her best not to acknowledge it in his presence.

  His kind words left her feeling churlish. She cleared her throat. “The fact remains that you took shameless advantage of the situation.”

  He leaned against his desk. “If you’re talking about the invitation to dine upstairs, what would you have had me do? Refuse Fielding and drag away his favorite sports hero? Just between you and me, I’d like to keep my job.

  “Look, Madelyn, you do great work, keep the clients happy, and earn the company a bundle. That’s what’s important and what everyone will remember. Not the fact that you missed out on lunch in the penthouse.”

  He lowered his voice as if to share a secret. “To be honest, you’re better off. A meal up top is nothing but a lot of dry talk and heavy food.” He tapped a fist to the center of his chest, mimicking heartburn. “A little of that French stuff goes a long way.”

  “Maybe so, but I deserved the chance to decide that for myself. I was entitled to that invitation.”

  Today was supposed to be my day, not yours. Why was it lately that he was the one receiving all the accolades?

  “You’re right,” Zack agreed. “You were entitled. And likely you would have received it if Larry Roland didn’t turn into a quivering puddle every time one of the top brass looks at him for more than two seconds in a row. But that’s bosses for you. You’ll get another chance—don’t worry.”

  He smiled broadly, flashing her a glimpse of his perfect white teeth. “Are we square now?”

  A weak, traitorous need to say yes ran through her. She choked it down.

  Square? With Zack Douglas?

  Her fiercest competition?

  Her chief rival?

  The only person who stood between her and the promotion that by rights would have been hers by now if he hadn’t come along?

  The man who’d been an aggravating thorn in her side from the instant he’d walked through the door?

  The man who exuded charisma as if it were fine cologne and didn’t mind taking advantage of that fact?

  No, she’d never be square with him.

  Still, the outrage that had propelled her into his office moments ago had largely evaporated. “I’ll consider a truce; it’s the best I can offer. A very short, very temporary truce.”

  “That’ll do,” he said. Then, in a move that surprised them both, he reached out and gave the curl lying against her cheek a gentle tug, his fingers brushing her skin. “For now,” he added.

  Sensation burned like a line of fire where he’d touched.

  “Wha . . . what was that?” she said, stepping quickly back and lifting a hand to tuck the loose hair behind her ear.

  “Loose curl,” he murmured, meeting her eyes.

  “Oh.” She took another step away. “Well, I should get back to work.”

  “We both should. Glad we had a chance to talk this out, Red.”

  Red? She blinked and opened her mouth to correct him but found herself at a loss for words. She turned and yanked open the door.

  • • •

  Once she’d gone, Zack returned to his chair. What had he been thinking, playing with her hair like that? Touching her? At least he hadn’t given in to the impulse to kiss her, an idea that had definitely crossed his mind. But kissing a woman like Madelyn Grayson could have serious repercussions. The sort that might lead to long-term complications a man like him didn’t need. God knows, the failure of his one and only marriage years ago had taught him that lesson well. Never let a woman get too close; that was his motto. Enjoy them, appreciate their beauty, then wave good-bye before they have a chance to curl their claws around your heart and squeeze.

  But enough of that. He and Madelyn worked together, end of story. Besides, if the rumor mill was right, she was all but engaged to some rich international financier. He’d seen the guy’s picture—tall and blond with a perfect toothpaste-ad smile—sitting on her office credenza. According to the other women in the office, blondie was as close to a knight in shining armor as any flesh-and-blood man could get.

  He rolled his eyes at the ridiculous notion.

  No, he’d done the right thing.

  The wise thing.

  Especially since he hadn’t told her about the Takamuri account. Once Madelyn found out about that, she’d be furious, leaving them both back at square one.

  Shrugging over what he couldn’t change, he picked up his pen and resumed work on his storyboard.

  • • •

  Madelyn was still trembling in reaction to her confrontation with Zack when she reached her office. She closed the door behind her and sat down at her desk.

  What in the hell was that? Even now, her cheek tingled where he had touched her. She reached up and fingered the curl that had come loose again. Damn him, she thought. And damn me for responding.

  Bad day; that’s all it was. Bad week, actually, but she didn’t want to dwell on that now. She dug a small mirror out of her purse and used it as she ruthlessly combed her hair back into place, every last strand.

  After taking a long pull from the eco-friendly water bottle she kept on the edge of her desk, she reapplied her lipstick—a pale shade of pink called Strawberries and Cream that managed to complement, instead of clash with, her red hair.

  Much better, she thought, tucking the lipstick and mirror away again in her purse. Her confidence was restored, her control once again in place. At least that’s what she was going to tell herself.

  She was gathering up materials to review with her assistant, Peg Truman, when the telephone rang.

 
It was her mother. “Hello, love. How was your morning? Just had to call and find out.”

  “Hi, Mom.” Madelyn resumed her seat. “It was fine.”

  An image of Zack Douglas flashed into her mind. She pushed it away.

  “Only fine?” Laura Grayson questioned. “Did something go wrong? Oh, I hope not. I know how hard you’ve worked on that fashion campaign.” She paused. “One of the models didn’t fall off that makeshift runway you had built, did they?”

  Madelyn smiled. Her mother had such a wonderfully dramatic imagination. “No, no one fell off the stage. The show went fine—great, in fact. The client loved it, said he had orders flying in before the show was even half through.”

  “Well, that sounds marvelous. So what’s the matter?”

  That was the trouble, Madelyn thought, when you were speaking with the person who’d once dusted powder on your naked baby bottom, patched your skinned knees when you fell off the monkey bars in first grade, and took flash pictures of you in your prom dress until you thought you might be blinded—they sensed everything.

  “Nothing,” Madelyn said. “I’m tired, that’s all.”

  There was a long pause. “Well,” Laura said, “I’m not surprised, working yourself to the bone the way you do. If you ask me, those people you work for don’t appreciate you enough.”

  After the day she’d had, Madelyn had to agree, though she didn’t say so out loud.

  “If I had my way, you’d have come to work for me a long time ago,” Laura said. “You’d make a terrific planner—you know that.”

  It was an old argument. Madelyn opted for the path of least resistance. “So, how is the wedding business?”

  “Busy, frantic, wonderful. That’s why I’m calling you at the office. I’ve got another half hour; then I have to leave for the Richardson rehearsal. The wedding is scheduled for tomorrow morning and sure to be spectacular. Five hundred guests, two dozen white swans, flowered luminaria, and a twenty-piece orchestra from the Boston Philharmonic. Lord, it’s going to be a madhouse.”