Mr. Unforgettable by Karina Bliss Page A

children she’d never had with Harry. Luke wasn’t that man.
    Since his separation, Luke counted the cost of every liaison with a woman, and this one was priced too high. With a sigh of resignation, he reached for his running shoes.
    Â 
    L IZ WAS SO TIRED she forgot to turn her mobile phone off during an afternoon council meeting and the theme tune to Rocky I interrupted Councilor Bray’s monologue on item nine—approving security cameras on the council building to discourage graffiti.
    The tinny melody rang out again. Those who recognized the tune started to laugh. With arms that ached from daily swimming practice, Liz fumbled through her bag, silently cursing her campaign manager.
    Kirsty had insisted on reprogramming the phone’s ring tone to encourage Liz to think like a winner. Feeling like a complete idiot, Liz switched it off, but not before she saw Luke’s number flash up. “Sorry about that,” she murmured, then took advantage of the interruption. “And thank you, Councillor Bray, for that useful summary on modern youth.”
    â€œBut I haven’t fin—”
    With the ease of long practice, she cut him short, restated the notice of motion and took a vote. “Surveillance cameras approved. Meeting closed—” she glanced at the clock above the portrait of the queen “—at 2:55 p.m.” As soon as she got the chance, Liz stepped into the corridor and returned Luke’s call.
    â€œLiz, I have to cancel our session today.”
    The stress in his voice was almost palpable as they rescheduled for nine-thirty the following night.
    â€œIs everything okay?”
    â€œNo,” he said bluntly. “Most of my staff has gone home with food poisoning. Social Services’ final inspection is tomorrow and we’re nowhere near ready.” She didn’t have to see him to know that he was pacing.
    â€œCall for volunteers.”
    â€œI’ve put the word out, but too many locals are still ambivalent about this facility.”
    They weren’t the only ones. Liz’s hand grew clammy on the phone. All she had to do was say goodbye, hang up. But she’d never been any good at looking the other way. “I’ll come,” she croaked, “for a couple of hours.”
    â€œThanks.” With that casual acceptance, he rang off. See, Liz reassured herself, it’s no big deal. But she clasped one hand around her other wrist like a frightened child. You’re an adult now, she reminded herself, deal with it.
    Back in the boardroom, Snowy canvassed for more allies. With elections less than a month away, Liz was falling behind in public-opinion polls because, as a frustrated Kirsty kept pointing out, she kept doing her job instead of schmoozing like everyone else.
    â€œExcuse me,” she said. The others stopped talking and looked around, Snowy impatiently.
    Liz relayed Luke’s predicament and asked for volunteers.
    â€œI’ve got council business to attend to,” Maxwell said. Only an hour earlier she’d heard him book a tee at the local golf club. Others immediately seized his excuse.
    â€œI completely understand. Of course, council business takes priority over self-promotion.”
    Snowy’s gaze sharpened. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œThe Beacon Bay Chronicle showing us all pitching in, getting the camp ready for the underprivileged kiddies.” Liz picked up her briefcase. “But if you’re too—”
    â€œThe Chronicle’s doing a story?” Maxwell interrupted. He smoothed his comb-over.
    She crossed her fingers behind her back. “It’s a suggestion.” Which she’d make as soon as she had the privacy to call the editor.
    Everyone suddenly found a reason to leave immediately until only Snowy lingered.
    â€œWhy would you share the glory…I can’t figure it out.” Their relationship had deteriorated over recent