The Bachelor's Cinderella

CHAPTER THREE

IT HAD been a long day. Meg and Etienne had covered every inch of the building. They’d pored over paperwork, gone through the computer files, sifted through the desk drawers that Alan Fieldman had left behind. There was a photo of Meg in there that she had given him. There was also a photo of Paula Avery, the stunningly attractive but uninformed woman Alan had hired and then promoted over Meg three weeks later. And even photos of two other women, one somewhat scantily clad.

Meg had discovered these while Etienne was busy elsewhere, and now she quickly shoved all the photos deep in the drawer and closed it. She had been fooled by Alan. He had seen that she had been his mother’s favorite and had used her to make points with Mary. The fact that Meg had fallen for his act, had allowed her defenses to fall that much…it was a pathetic chapter in her life she wanted to remain closed. And she was wiser now. She would not allow herself to be weak again.

Especially not with Etienne. That thought dropped in out of nowhere but she didn’t turn away. He had made a point of mentioning that he wasn’t in the market for romantic entanglements. Some women might be offended, but Meg was glad for the gentle warning. The truth might sting, but it was always better than a lie. And she had learned the dangers of lying to herself. Etienne was not and never would be for her.

“All right, we know the lay of the land now, Meg,” Etienne was saying, causing her to start.

She pulled herself back into the here and now and the business at hand. “The situation at Fieldman’s looks pretty desperate,” she said.

“Getting cold feet?”

She was. The thought of holding people’s lives in her hands filled her with dread. She’d spoken with Edie at lunchtime, and her friend was so scared she was practically in tears.

“I don’t want my friends to suffer,” she said. “Edie’s husband got laid off from his job last year and he hasn’t been able to find another one. This place is all she has. She’s not the only one, either. The people here…they’re good people.”

“They didn’t stand up to Alan when he fired you.”

“They have children, dependents. I don’t. And I don’t blame them. What could they have said that would have made a difference? And anyway, my problems with Alan were of my own making.”

Etienne swore at that. At least she assumed he was swearing. “I don’t know those words,” she told him.

“Good. And you’re not going to, either, ma chère.”

Meg felt a jolt, a warmth, go through her at the French phrase. All right, she’d had high school French, enough to realize that he meant it just as a friendly term, but coming from Etienne’s lips…oh darn, Etienne could say the words peanut butter and a woman would go all gooey inside.

Except me, she thought. I just declared my intent to be strong not two minutes ago. And it’s true. It’s got to be true. I have to make it true. Etienne’s not available. I’m not available and I don’t want to be available. From now on I’m immune to Etienne. Please let me be immune. Don’t let me do or say something stupid.

“This Alan…he was the one in the wrong. You shouldn’t let a man like that dictate your life,” Etienne told her. “Your worth should never be dependent on one person.” He said the words angrily with a slash of his hand.

“I don’t let my worth depend on the opinion of others,” she assured him. “I won’t.” But she had. Once upon a time she had tried to break past her parents’ conviction that her birth had intruded on their plans and ruined their lives, but she hadn’t been able to do that, and now that no longer mattered. She had a goal and a purpose and none of what had happened in her past could stop her.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that,” Etienne said with a smile that lit up those sexy, silvery-blue eyes. “We’ll save your friends together, Meg. This won’t be all on your head. I wouldn’t allow you to carry that burden or to ever feel that you were solely responsible for saving another person. I would never have asked you to go through anything like that alone.” He broke off abruptly and she wondered what his experience with burdens or trying to save people had been, but she’d read the online articles about him losing his wife and baby and she was sure he knew about the depths of despair and the fear of not being able to save someone. He had good reason to travel the world alone and keep his heart intact.

Meg’s eyes felt suddenly misty. She blinked. “Thank you.”

“Still,” he said in that low, deep voice of his, “I have to express my admiration. You were amazingly adept at deciphering those ledgers. They were gibberish to me, and I’ve looked at more than my share of ledgers.”

She shrugged. “Mary had her own system. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t a great idea.”

“So, the ledgers are translated. That’s one bridge crossed,” he said. “Now, on to the next.”

She blinked. They had already been here for ten hours. “What’s next?”

“You,” he said.

“Me?” Her heartbeat went into overdrive.

“I made you a promise yesterday. We had a deal.”

“Oh. Me. You’re going to transform me. And you’re going to make me into a worthy spokesperson.”

“You’re already worthy and you don’t need transforming. You need polish.”

“Lots of polish.”

He frowned, but she ignored that. “What are you going to teach me first?”

She looked up at him and was surprised to see a look of intense heat in his eyes. “First I’m going to dress you.”

Meg swallowed hard. Even though, she reminded herself, there was no reason to be self-conscious. Dressing a woman was a lot different from undressing her. But her appearance was the last thing she had envisioned when she’d asked Etienne to help make her a success. This was unsettling, unnerving. The very thought…She felt ridiculously frivolous, but somehow she was sure that Etienne had encountered any number of successful women in his life. He knew the right ingredients.

“All right,” she said slowly. “I suppose you could do that. I was never very fond of this dress, anyway.”

“That dress should be destroyed so that no one can ever wear it again.”

He sounded so offended that she just had to smile. “That’s going a bit far, isn’t it?”

“Not nearly far enough, Meg. You have…curves. You should show them.”

“Curves?” she said with a laugh and a shake of her head. “Well, thank you for putting it that way instead of simply saying that I weigh too much.”

“You do not weigh too much. You have shape. Here,” he said, motioning toward her breast. He didn’t touch her at all, but she felt as if she had been touched. “And here,” he continued, curving his palm near her hip.

With great effort, Meg continued to breathe.

“Shape is a good thing,” Etienne said. “N’est ce pas? Isn’t it?”

It had never been a good thing for her before, but…

“You know a lot about women and what makes them…noticeable, don’t you? That is, noticeable in a good way, not in a bad way.”

“Has someone been making you feel bad about your looks?”

Okay, that was a subject she was not going to discuss. Doing so would only make her look as if she felt sorry for herself, and she refused to be that kind of whining woman. “No. Not at all,” she said brightly.

He smiled, and she knew that he probably suspected she was lying. “Good, because you should be proud of your looks. You have…”

He was hesitating. In her Meg plow-ahead way, she wanted to help, but discussing her physical attributes was virgin territory for her and also incredibly dangerous to her peace of mind, she thought, remembering that curving-his-hands-near-her-body exploration that had made her ache and want to squirm closer. “Etienne, I’m not some fragile flower.You don’t have to be so careful with me. I’m comfortable with who I am and I want you to know that I can do a pretty decent job of camouflaging this scar with makeup when I take the time to do that if it will help my image,” she offered, gesturing toward her mouth.

“Yes. I noticed that enchanting scar, Meg,” he said. And somehow the way he said it, he made it sound as if every woman on earth should only wish they had such a scar. “How did you get it?”

But that was another topic she didn’t care to discuss in great depth. “It was just a little fall. Not a big deal,” she said, though of course it had felt like a very big deal when she was growing up. Her mother had constantly urged her to cover it up and had bemoaned the fact that Meg would never be half as beautiful as her sister, Ann. Ann being the grown daughter Leslie Leighton and her husband had actually planned and wanted and cherished, not the daughter who had been a major mistake, who had come along late in their lives and who had trapped them into staying in a marriage they wanted to rid themselves of. “And anyway, it happened so long ago that the details no longer matter.”

And with this gorgeous, exotic, successful man gazing at her face as if he would like to touch her, Meg couldn’t stay focused on the details, anyway.

She struggled to clear her head and concentrate on what they had been talking about before this disconcerting discussion of her scar began. “Since you’re new to the area, you probably don’t know any shops we can go to, so I’ll help,” she said and she offered up a few of the ones she frequented: inexpensive little out-of-the-way shops.

“I was thinking more…classic with maybe a hint of sass thrown in.” He rattled off the names of several upscale stores and boutiques in the area.

Meg raised her brows in astonishment. “You live in Paris. So, how do you know these things? Where women buy their clothes and what the best places are?” she asked.

“It’s part of the job.”

“You dress women often?”

“Sometimes out-of-town clients have emergencies. It’s a good rule of thumb, wherever you are, to always know a few good restaurants, a few good theaters and places where both women and men can pick up emergency supplies. It shows your clients that you’re prepared to go the extra mile to help them. Presentation is important.”

“I’ll remember that, but…”

He waited.

“I can’t afford to shop at those places.”

“Yes, you can. I’m paying you very well.” He threw out a figure that made Meg’s breath catch in her throat.

“That’s far too much. I assumed you were going to pay me what Alan’s former assistant was making, or at least something in the ballpark.”

He smiled. Okay, she was being pushy and outspoken again, but still…

“It’s not too much,” he said. “And you’re going to earn every penny. You’re now Fieldman’s. When people see Fieldman’s Furnishings, what they’re really going to see is Meg Leighton. Here and abroad.”

Her courage nearly faltered at that. Having people staring at her had always been difficult. But she had asked for his help and he was going to help her. She had agreed to be the spokesperson only hours ago. She couldn’t turn craven on him now. “And as the actual owner of Fieldman’s, you’ll be in the spotlight, too.”

“Yes, but I’m used to it. I’ve lived in that kind of spotlight all my life. You haven’t. That means you need ways to conquer stage fright, should it rear its ugly head. You need the right clothes and you need to be able to make an instant impression. Consider it part of your job description.”

“All right. But when I said that I wanted you to help me be a success, I wasn’t even thinking that you would clothe me.”

“What were you thinking I would do?”

“Teach me.”

“I will.”

“Guide me,” she said, her voice coming out a little whispery and very unlike herself.

“I promise I’ll do that and more.”

Meg didn’t even want to try to imagine what the and more part meant. Instead she followed Etienne out into the sunlight, into his sleek, expensive car and, eventually, into a very expensive boutique that she had only ever seen from the outside.

“We need a wardrobe,” he told the woman. “Only items that complement Meg’s complexion and her figure. Nothing gaudy, but…think…”

He studied Meg. “Nothing drab, either. Meg likes bright colors.”

“How do you know that?” Meg asked.

“I peeked in your doorway while we were talking yesterday. Your living room is quite out of the ordinary.”

She laughed. “You’re being quite polite by describing it that way. Even Edie tells me I went too far with the aqua and tangerine and yellow.”

“Maybe, but it suits you. And all those colors complement your eyes.”

“My eyes are plain brown.”

He did that wicked eyebrow raising thing again. “You, mademoiselle, don’t even know what color your eyes are. There’s nothing plain about them.”

While he was talking he was looking into her eyes just as if they were alone. But they weren’t, and Meg felt suddenly self-conscious. The saleswoman probably thought that Meg was paying Etienne for his services or something. He could certainly spend his time with someone totally beautiful if he wanted to.

“Okay, my eyes are gorgeous,” she lied. “What should I buy?”

“This,” he said, pointing out a stunning camel colored suit and adding a melon silk blouse. “For starters.”

And he meant what he said. For the next hour, Meg tried on outfit after outfit. Etienne nixed many of them. “That doesn’t do justice to her legs,” he’d say, just as if Meg’s legs had ever been the kind of thing anyone admired. And yet…in the camel suit or in the knee skimming navy sheath with subtle red trim, wearing red pumps that were slightly higher than she was used to, her legs did look different. Thinner.

“You have an eye,” the saleswoman said to Etienne, and Meg knew that the woman was wishing that she was the woman Etienne was with.

It’s just business, Meg wanted to tell her. We’re not romantic people. We’re just on this outing as part of the deal we made and because we need to make an impression at the expo. Still, the woman was right. Etienne had obviously dressed many women before, and those women had undoubtedly had more polish than the average female. It was a good thing to keep in mind. Even if he had the time and inclination to get involved with someone during his stay in Chicago, he was not for someone like Meg Leighton.

“Not this,” Meg said when Etienne handed her a slender black strapless dress. “I’m all about business. I won’t need anything this formal.”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “There will be at least one event either here or in Paris where you’ll need this. I’m sure of it.”

Suddenly fear took hold of her. What was she doing? She, plain, always awkward Meg Leighton, the girl whose mother had accidentally scarred her, then reminded Meg again and again over the years that she would never go far if she didn’t cover up her deformity, lose weight, stand up taller, remake herself into a completely different person, was here trying on a cocktail dress just as if she was actually going to wear it.

She frowned and started to put it back.

Etienne gave the saleswoman a look, sending her scurrying away. He placed a hand on Meg’s arm, and sensation jolted through her. Heat suffused her body.

“Please, Meg, do this,” Etienne said, leaning closer to her so that she nearly had to close her eyes from the sheer sensation of feeling the warmth of his body. “You need to do this. Alan was an idiot.”

Her eyes flew open at that. “What?”

“Don’t you think that I know that that…that fool sapped your confidence in yourself when he let you go?”

“I never had that kind of total confidence in myself. Well, other than my brains. I knew I had those, but this…my…person…”

His eyes opened wide. “You should have confidence here, too. Look at you, Meg,” he said, turning her so that they both faced the mirror. “Look at your cheekbones.” Standing behind her, he raised his arms, framing her body so that his fingertips skimmed her skin.

Her heart nearly flipped over. “I—I have that scar,” she reminded him.

“Yes, and I explained how adorable and sexy that was.”

“I think you’re blind.”

“I have twenty-twenty vision.”

If she hadn’t been so overwhelmed by his nearness, she might have laughed at how seriously he had taken her comment. As it was, she could barely breathe.

“Think of you in this dress,” he said. “With your hair up like this.” He reached down and gently lifted her long hair, so that her neck was exposed.

And then he simply stared.

“What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?” She tried to twist.

“You have a beautiful neck. Has anyone ever told you that?”

And then the sheer incongruity of the situation hit Meg. The nervous laughter bubbled up out of her.

“I said something funny?” he asked.

“You said something wonderful. Not true, but wonderful. I definitely have to start hanging around with a whole lot more Frenchmen. Are they all like you?”

She looked in the mirror, and saw that his eyes were dark and not at all happy. “A few compliments. True compliments,” he insisted. “And you want to start meeting all the men in Paris. And…how am I?”

Meg frowned, confused.

“You asked if they were all like me. What did you mean?”

“Only that you were full of pretty talk.”

“Pretty talk?”

“You know, that thing about my neck. As if my neck is any different from any other woman’s neck.”

“You,” he said. “Need more than just business lessons. You need to be introduced to the right kind of men. Obviously someone was negligent in your upbringing if no one has told you these things.”

She shook her head, sadly. “My parents were…not nice parents, but they weren’t the only ones. Fat little girls with scars on their faces do not get compliments on anything other than their brains. And even then, pretty girls with brains still win.”

“Well, this time you’ll be the one to win. And you are pretty,” he told her, clearly more than a bit angry.

“Please send all these things here,” Etienne told the saleswoman as he gave her his credit card and a slip of paper with Meg’s address on it. “And she’ll need underthings. Lots of them. Silky, pretty stuff. Meg…”

But Meg was suddenly blushing horribly and by now even she knew that she was blushing for real. “You’re not buying me lingerie,” she said. “I’m not that kind of woman.”

“What kind is that? Do you mean you don’t wear underwear, Meg?”

Meg heard the woman make a choking sound and she wasn’t sure if the lady was trying to hold back a laugh or just as startled as Meg was.

Meg looked at Etienne and there was no question that he was laughing. He was trying to cow her into buying something she truly didn’t need.

“Sometimes I don’t,” she said, blustering in and lifting her chin defiantly even though it was a lie. She didn’t care. All this talk of how pretty she was…How could she have forgotten her rotten luck with men? Alan had told her all kinds of lies and she had believed them. They hadn’t been nearly as preposterous as the things Etienne had been saying.

But she took one look at Etienne and knew that she had stepped over a line. His eyes were dark and heated, and the look on his face was…territorial, sensual, utterly male.

There was no way she knew anything at all about handling that kind of reaction. She’d never elicited that kind of reaction from any man. She was definitely in over her head.

“But I’ll probably need some things for the times I do wear underwear,” she said quickly. “I’ll tell you my size,” she told the woman, scrambling for a scrap of paper. She was so not going to say her bra size out loud. Especially not in Etienne’s presence.

She handed the woman the paper and began a march toward the door. Every step she took was agony. She felt as if the eyes of the world were on her, and that she was alone. It was a feeling she knew all too well.

But within seconds Etienne was beside her. He took her arm and curled his hand around hers. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“I embarrassed you.”

And she realized something. “You weren’t laughing at me, were you?”

“I was teasing you. Because we’re…Because I like you. That’s a very different thing from laughing at someone.”

Warmth stole through Meg. He was right, so right, but she had never had that. That closeness. At least not with a man.

“That was pretty clever and amusing,” she conceded. “At least after I get over my initial surprise. Did you see that poor woman’s face? We must have shocked her.”

“She thinks we’re sleeping together,” he said. “Or at least she did until you told me that you don’t wear underwear. A man who was sleeping with a woman would know that.”