Riches to Rags Bride / The Heiress's Baby

“Okay,” she said.

He looked as if he was going to smile, but … not quite. “Okay, that I’m a jerk or that your skirt fits the bill?”

“I—”

He shook his head. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. Answer this, instead. Do you have any strong feelings about the homeless, about people who have no money or prestige, people who may have been in trouble? ”

I’m seriously going to faint, she thought. Is he talking about me? How much research did he do? Does he know everything about my situation?

“I think … that people shouldn’t be judged by their financial situations. I would hope that most people felt that way.” Even though she knew that that wasn’t the case.

Lucas nodded. “All right. Last question. You and Teresa haven’t seen much of each other since you’ve grown up, but when you were young, you were close, she tells me. I’m sure she shared secrets with you. I make it my business to know everything about my employees past and present. Can you tell me some of those secrets?”

“No!” Genevieve’s voice came out a bit too loud, but shock at the bizarre and rude question rushed through her. For a moment she felt physically ill. Maybe she’d never interviewed for a job before, but she was sure that such questions were out of line and just plain alarming. What kind of man was this?

She looked up at Lucas and knew that in that moment, with that no, she had sealed her fate. The sick feeling grew. Lucas was gazing at her intently, waiting, those gray eyes mesmerizing. Hard. Cold. Demanding. What would it be like to have no money, no home, no food? No doubt she was about to find out.

“No,” she said again, softly this time. Teresa, despite her playful attitude and her money, had had a harsh childhood. She trusted Genevieve. “No.”

Lucas’s cold gray gaze softened, just a touch. “When can you begin work?” he asked.

“What?”

“Work. When can you begin work? That’s what you came for, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I thought—your question … I …”

“Most people have a few dark secrets in their closet. I have no interest in prying into Teresa’s past. What I needed to know was whether you would spill those secrets in order to get a job. That’s all I needed to ascertain.”

His deep voice delivering the news she most needed to hear seemed to rumble right through her body, touching every nerve ending on its journey. Genevieve let out a deep, shaky breath, still disoriented and more than a little alarmed by her physical attraction to this man when he was so obviously someone who didn’t play by the rules. She had been fooled by people reputed to be straight shooters. How on earth could she deal with someone whose methods she couldn’t even begin to understand?

“I’m afraid that you have me at a disadvantage, Mr. McDowell. Teresa told me that the job might involve a little decorating, some clerical or organizational skills. She told me what little she knew, but … as I mentioned earlier, I have no real idea what the job will entail or why you would need to know whether I would spill my guts about a friend’s past.”

“I know, and I apologize for the bizarre nature of this interview. My only rationale is that the work you’ll be doing, should you accept the task, is in some ways very public, but other parts are very sensitive. The person I hire has to be capable of dealing with sensitive personal information, but it’s difficult to measure that kind of loyalty. Most job candidates would insist that they were capable of discretion, but in reality not that many can resist retelling a juicy story. So, my apologies for my methods. I guarantee that from here on out, we’ll have the most practical and ordinary of business relationships.”

Genevieve highly doubted that. There was nothing ordinary about Lucas McDowell. “All right,” she said. “Can you tell me what the job is now, please?”

He looked slightly amused.

“What?”

“You’re exceptionally polite, given the fact that I no doubt creeped you out.”

She tilted her head. “You hold the cards.”

“So I do. All right, Genevieve, I’ve bought a large piece of property in the suburbs. The plan is to create a shelter for women who are down on their luck, a place to rebuild the lives of those who’ve been damaged by poverty or circumstances. We’re going to make it something the city can be proud of. I’m hoping it will spawn other such establishments, so we’re going to give it plenty of publicity. I want Angie’s House to be a perfect jewel, a success that will be the epicenter of a growing movement that will change lives. That means lots of buzz in order to jump-start the project with the public and potential sponsors of future Angie’s Houses.

“However, once we open the doors, we can’t forget that the women who’ll live there have already been betrayed by life. Some of them will want to keep the more personal aspects of their hardships to themselves. Others may put their trust in you by sharing parts of their stories. It’s important that whoever I hire knows how to put on a big show but also how to keep a confidence. I have to know that whoever works with me will talk up the concept while never betraying the trust of the prospective new tenants. It’s a fine line we’ll be walking.”

Genevieve knew what it was like to have her trust betrayed. She shuddered.

“That’s why you asked me about Teresa.”

“If you had tried to say one word about her past, I would have stopped you. And I couldn’t have hired you.”

She looked up into Lucas’s harsh face. “Mr. McDowell, I assure you that I understand. It isn’t always easy or smart to trust someone. Words aren’t enough.”

“Agreed.”

“So … why me?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I choose my employees carefully. Teresa is trustworthy. She recommended you. That alone wouldn’t have been enough, however. I need a good project manager and I’m sure I could have found someone else. You, however, have an edge.”

For the job of project manager? Genevieve wanted to close her eyes. Had Teresa overstated her skills? Did Lucas McDowell think she knew more than she did?

“What’s my edge?” she managed to ask.

“If you’ve organized your parents’ society events, you have a handle on how to make things happen and how to deal with time constraints, problems, setbacks and personnel. You’ve proven that you can keep a secret should that become necessary, and you have some experience with decor, something I lack. Furthermore, and most importantly, because as I said, I don’t want this project, Angie’s House, to be a single entity, you have the name to get people talking, to attract the kind of attention we need to bring in other donors for other houses.”

Genevieve struggled to keep her hands from shaking. The last thing she wanted right now was attention. The last thing she was capable of was bringing in people on the mere mention of her name.

She tried to swallow, struggled to find her voice. “You have a famous name.”

He shook his head. “I have money and a successful business. With a few exceptions, famous entrepreneurs don’t become household names. But people like your parents? World renowned artists? Yes, they do. Their name is like a glowing diamond. It puts people in a good mood, gets them excited. And you happen to share it.”

Genevieve’s heart fell a bit. Her importance hinged on her parents’ talents as it always had. She wanted to back away. But she couldn’t afford to.

“Does that mean I really do have the job?” She managed to ask.

“If you want it.”

She wanted it, but she must have been slow to say yes.

“If you don’t, tell me now. I’m on a strict timeline.

I have another job waiting in France when this one is done, an opening of a new store in Japan after that and I intend to finish up here in six weeks. So, if you can’t do this, Genevieve, or if you don’t want to, tell me. You’re free to go.”

She wanted to walk away. There were things she didn’t like about this setup. Her name, unlike her parents’ names, would be of no use. She should tell Lucas that. She didn’t really even have the skills he needed. And then there was the man, this intimidating, far too masculine man. But … hunger gnawed at her. Her faintness wasn’t only from nerves. She wasn’t free. She had to have this.

“I’d like the job, please,” she said. “I’ll be your …”

“Project manager.”

She nodded. The title was that belonging to a bolder person, one who knew how to take charge of situations and not be tricked or bullied into doing things she didn’t want to do.

“I’ll be your project manager. I’m your woman.”

For a moment, those gray eyes turned fierce. Genevieve realized just how little she knew about this man.

“Good.” Lucas held out his hand, and Genevieve automatically reached out. His fingers closed around hers, his hand much larger than hers. She should have felt trapped, insignificant. Instead, as heat seeped from his skin to hers, she was suddenly aware of him as a man more than as her new boss. That could be a problem if she let it. She wouldn’t.

“You should know that I believe in being hands-on in a project like this, Genevieve,” he said, releasing her. “If you and I are going to oversee and sell this project, we have to know it from the ground up. Every higher level employee at every factory and store I own spent some time in the trenches so that they could fully understand the business, so we’ll get started on your ground-floor experience right away. I’ll pick you up tomorrow. We’re headed straight for Angie’s House. Dress for work.”

“What kind?”

“The dirty kind. Do you have clothing you can mess up?”

She had clothing. It was the one thing she still had in abundance. Whether or not she had what Lucas meant, however, was questionable.

“No problem,” she said, hoping her smile was reassuring. “Let me give you my address.”

“I have it already.”

Once again, Genevieve had that feeling of being overwhelmed, too small and insignificant next to this man. She felt vulnerable, and vulnerable was the last thing she wanted or needed to feel right now.

“I won’t let you get to me, Mr. McDowell,” she muttered to herself later when she scoured her closet looking for something that could rightfully be called work clothes.

But she knew she lied. The man seemed to know everything about her. He felt like a powerful dark tornado that drops out of the sky, wreaks havoc in your life and then roars off again. He had her at a disadvantage, and she had sworn she would never be at a disadvantage with a man again. She would have to work on that and just start ignoring all the unnerving things about Lucas. She hoped that was possible.

Lucas shook his head after Genevieve was gone. This might well be a disaster in the making. She was young, destitute and had never worked at a job in her life. Despite her telling him that she wanted the job, she might change her mind later if there were complications or strife or if something better came along. He’d spent most of his youth dealing with people who thought they wanted to do something good but later changed their minds when things hit a rough patch.

What’s more, she was far too pretty. Even with her hair scraped back from her face so brutally, or maybe because of it, her classic features were striking. And also … a vision of her legs and those luscious knees crept in, and he quickly slapped that right out of his consciousness. The last thing he needed was to get involved with a socialite who was down on her luck and looking to improve her situation. Women … and others had used him or tried to use him before. Repeatedly. As an orphan in the foster system, people had thought taking him in would earn them Good Samaritan points. As a man who’d fought his way to wealth and power, women like Rita thought he’d make a nice trophy or else they wanted his money and power. The only thing that none of them realized was that he had nothing to give them, emotionally or any other way. He’d spent all his emotional capital years ago, wasted it, burnt it, lost it. Now all he had—all he would ever allow himself—was work and guilt.

But he was not going to feel guilty about Genevieve Patchett. Their relationship would be work only, nothing personal. He wasn’t responsible for her problems, and she wasn’t going to be on his conscience.

And he wasn’t going to think about her legs, either, or those gorgeous green eyes. At least not much.

CHAPTER TWO

THE NEXT MORNING, Genevieve crawled from bed and faced the dirty, cracked and chalky walls of the small room she had rented.

Today is the day I start working for Lucas McDowell, she thought, trying to choke back the fear that accompanied the thought. Would she be able to be the kind of employee that Lucas wanted? She’d never even needed to work before. But now …

“I need—”

Her words were interrupted by an angry shout echoing through the paper-thin walls. Something hard hit the wall. Caught off guard, Genevieve jumped. Even though such sounds weren’t at all unusual, she had yet to get used to how close and heated everything was. How desperate. How different from the life of luxury that was all she’d known until a few months ago. Tension coiled within her. That old life was gone. It wasn’t just this place that seemed desperate. She was desperate.

The tension slid up a notch as, once again, the reality of her situation hit home. The sun had already risen and Genevieve knew that anytime now, her landlady might appear, screeching, demanding the rent that Gen didn’t have. Threatening.

Before now, no one had ever seriously threatened her in her entire life.

But Mrs. Dohenny would, and she had the right to do that. Genevieve was a full month behind on her rent. She fought the sickness that followed that thought and tried to rush. She hoped to be gone long before Mrs. Dohenny showed up. The last thing she needed was for her new boss to find out that she was, essentially, living here without paying. Gen remembered her father yelling at a doorman who had displeased him in some way. Firing the man as he pleaded for his job so that he could feed his family. Ignoring the man’s pleas.

“Stop it,” she whispered weakly. Don’t think about that. It’s not helping. She didn’t even know why she was thinking about that incident now.

No, that was a lie. She knew. She was afraid of failing, of becoming the doorman and having Lucas fire her on her first day.

Closing her eyes for a second, she dragged in a deep, shaky breath and tried to proceed with her tasks. Quickly, she showered in the small, cramped tub with its leaking, rusty showerhead and broken, institution-green plastic tiles, exited the bathroom and moved to the battered three-legged dresser that was the only piece of furniture other than the bed and one wooden chair.

Her reflection in the cracked mirror above the dresser was too pale, the meager items on it a sad testimony to how far she had fallen. An almost empty jar of expensive cleansing cream shared space with half a tube of lipstick in a golden, emerald-studded case and a tiny half-used vial of perfume she refused to touch except in emergencies, because it felt like armor, the last little bit she possessed. Once it was gone, there would be no more.

Staring at these remnants of her past life, Genevieve sighed. The cost of these three items new would have paid her rent in this little broom closet of a room several times over, but now they were merely some of the last precious remnants of a lifestyle she’d never, ever know again.

The cheap clock clicked loudly as another minute passed. Genevieve looked at the sagging mattress so unlike the luxuriously soft bed encased in crisp scented sheets she’d once had, and a drumbeat of panic began to pound in her breast. Lucas McDowell was picking her up soon. What if he saw this room with its holes in the plaster and the windows that had bars over them to keep the bad people out? Then he would know that she couldn’t even take care of herself, much less be a project manager.

She couldn’t let that happen. She grabbed the lipstick with shaky fingers and gathered the few other items. Carefully, sparingly, trying to make these last remnants of her once elegant life last a bit longer, she began to apply her makeup. Then, she picked out the most casual clothing she could find. When Lucas got here, she would need to find a smile and something that looked like confidence. Not for the first time in her life, she wished that she was the outgoing, confident type who won people with her dazzling personality and talent instead of being the quiet, behind-the-scenes type.

But wishing had never made anything happen in her life. It hadn’t made her parents love her. It hadn’t saved her from her con-man financial-advisor fiancé. All she had to help her right now was the determination to do whatever she had to in order to survive.

No, more than survive, she hoped. She wanted to be … more, to become a different person: bolder, more successful, independent. Make that completely, totally, “never rely or lean on anyone again in her life” independent.

That meant she had to please Lucas McDowell.

No matter what.

Lucas frowned as he pulled up in front of the dark, ugly apartment building that matched the address he had for Genevieve Patchett. He wasn’t a native to Chicago, but he’d lived here for a while as a teenager; he’d done business in this city on numerous occasions, and even if he hadn’t, he knew a bad neighborhood when he saw one. As a child he’d lived in them, nearly died in them, and this one had “get out of here if you can” written all over it. He’d recognized that before he’d gotten within three blocks of this place. This wasn’t your standard debutante living arrangement.

Genevieve had fallen even further than he’d guessed. But then, that wasn’t his problem, was it? His new project manager’s abode wasn’t any of his business. The only reason he was here at all was to escort her to the work site, and he wouldn’t even be doing that except for the fact that summer construction had temporarily disrupted public transportation to the area where Angie’s House was located.

So ignore this place. Just go get her, he told himself, reaching for the car door handle.

At that moment he saw her. She exited the building like a rabbit being chased by a fox, zipping out the door, glancing back over her shoulder with fear in her eyes.

Yeah, that was fear. He was familiar with the expression. Something had Genevieve Patchett spooked.

“No, please don’t get out,” she said, hurrying to the passenger side of his black sports car. “I—I don’t want to be late on my first day and … and someone might hurt your car if you leave it.”

She reached for the handle, practically dove for the thing.

He exited the car, ignoring her fluttering and flustered admonitions. Despite the fact that she was none of his concern, there were rules to be followed. Rules and discipline kept a person safe and helped maintain distance. They kept things under control, and being in control was … necessary. It had always been of supreme importance ever since he finally—thank the stars—realized that he didn’t have to be at the mercy of others’ damaging, self-serving whims. So …

“I’m not that worried about the car, Genevieve.” Without another word, he moved to the passenger door and opened it for her. But as they drove away, and despite himself, he couldn’t help wondering what it was that she was so afraid of.

And that kind of speculation would have to stop. He had no business thinking anything about Genevieve Patchett beyond the tasks they would share. He liked his world well-ordered—by him—and already he could see that she, with those vulnerable green eyes that betrayed her every emotion, would create the kind of havoc that he never allowed in his life. He didn’t get deeply involved. With anyone. Certainly not with his employees, so it was a good thing that she was here to do a job and a short-term job at that. Their paths would only run parallel for a very brief period of time.

Then he would never think about her ever again. Which was a very good thing, he reminded himself.

Still, for the moment, she was here, she was his employee. That alone made her his responsibility, and … she was wearing some pale blue lacy thing. A blouse.

With pencil-slim light-colored pants. Shoes with a little heel. Very stylish. No doubt very expensive, but not the kind of thing that would survive the day ahead.

He couldn’t hold back a frown. How had he let Teresa talk him into this, he thought, then reminded himself that he was the one who had hired Genevieve, not Teresa. Because Genevieve is a Patchett, he told himself. Because she has the required skills and a name that may prove useful. Having her name attached to this project would engender the kind of attention and cachet that was needed to make Angie’s House the next big “it” charity. It would get Angie’s House in the newspapers, so how Genevieve looked to him was unimportant.

Which was a good thing, because right now, he thought, glancing to the side, she looked very good. Those clothes might be impractical but they fit her curves to perfection. Her pink mouth looked very …

Small. Pink. Moist.

Darn it, McDowell, stop it. She’s off-limits. “Is that the plainest thing you have?” he asked, scattering all those inappropriate thoughts he was having.

She fidgeted with the door handle in what looked to be a nervous reaction. “I’m sorry. It was the only thing I had that was cotton.”

“Silk and satin more your thing?” He frowned again.

Genevieve took a deep breath. “I … I hadn’t anticipated all of this.”

He wasn’t sure what “all of this” entailed but she suddenly seemed even more vulnerable than she had before. He wondered once again at the wisdom of hiring her. Could she handle this job?

“I told you about how all my employees get involved on the ground floor, but I didn’t explain how monumental this task is. The building where Angie’s House will be located is a total mess. I’m afraid your clothes are going to get pretty dirty.”

She gave a small nod, as if she was used to being handed bad news. And he guessed she was of late, given that her money was all gone.

“If my clothes get dirty, then I’ll wash them,” she said in a small, quiet voice. “I need to learn to do things like that. I’m not afraid of work, Mr. McDowell.”

Maybe she believed that, but she hadn’t seen the inside of this place yet. Her hands were pale cream, soft. Hands that didn’t do manual labor or come into contact with dirt on any kind of a regular basis. And the mere fact that she was learning how to do things like wash a blouse practically screamed “privileged.” Unlike her, he hadn’t been born to wealth, even if he had plenty of money now. He knew how to use his hands, and with the tight schedule he’d set for the completion of this project, he didn’t have time to baby her.

This was a deadline that couldn’t be missed … for numerous reasons. The opening date was significant in ways he preferred not to think about, but there was also the fact that delaying things would result in innocent, needy people waiting longer for their chance to move in. Those people had no money and never had. There wasn’t a soft-skinned, lace-and-satin princess in the bunch.

“I don’t have time to baby you,” he said as if his brain had somehow foolishly directed him to say what he was thinking. Or maybe because a part of him hoped that if he was callous with her, he would stop wanting another glimpse of those big green eyes.

“I assure you that I don’t need special treatment.” But despite the softness of her voice, he could tell that he had offended her. That was unprofessional of him. It was unacceptable. Getting personal with his employees for good or for ill was not allowed.

“What do you need?” he asked.

A slight tremble visibly rippled through her delicate frame. She seemed to consider her words carefully. “Honesty—that is, I would be happy for simple, honest work.”