The Cinderella Bride

by Barbara Wallace

  The waitress didn’t disappoint. “Here, let me get it for you,” she said, leaning over far more than necessary to reach across the table. As she did, she angled her body so that Gideon got a good view of her perfectly formed cleavage.

  “Thanks,” Emma replied, her bravado shrinking. She’d caught a glimpse herself when Maddie had bent over. If there were a real competition, Emma wouldn’t stand a chance, and they both knew it.

  She waited until Maddie walked—or rather, strutted—to her next table, then pushed the container back into place. “I guess word of your arrival has trickled down the grapevine. Hope you weren’t trying to remain incognito.”

  “Hmm.” Gideon was busy studying the contents of his tumbler. He hadn’t spoken since asking Emma to stay. She rubbed her wrist, surprised how her skin still tingled. Her reaction to his touch unnerved her, but not nearly as much as his silence did. His withdrawal made her insides ache.

  “Mr. Kent?” He looked up from the amber liquid.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Her question earned her a very strange smile. “Trying to compete with our waitress, Miss O’Rourke?”

  “Hardly. You just look…” she shrugged “…out of sorts.”

  “And you, diligent employee that you are, want to help.”

  “A simple ‘I’m fine’ would suffice.”

  “I hate that word.” He smiled again. This time a sparkle appeared with it, one that swept away any annoyance. “How long have you worked for Mariah, Miss O’Rourke?”

  Emma added milk to her tea. “A little over a year.”

  “Most of her assistants don’t last that long.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Must be all that diligence.”

  “I like your grandmother.”

  “Even when you’re standing in the rain?”

  Emma laughed. “Even then. As you said, she has a way of making people do what she wants.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Just like that, the sparkle dimmed from his eyes. Lifting his glass, he drained the whiskey in one long sip.

  “Tell me something, Miss O’Rourke,” he continued, studying his empty glass as he spoke. “Did you really dislike the Silbermann designs?”

  “I didn’t say I disliked them, per se.”

  “Miss O’Rourke…”

  “I think your uncle Andrew is far more qualified to offer an opinion than I am.”

  “Besides, all you’re interested in is a comfortable bed.”

  “Exactly.”

  Gideon nodded, and went back to studying his tumbler. Emma sipped her tea and tried not to squirm. Why did she feel like she’d given a wrong answer?

  Surely you have one or two fantasies….

  “Maybe we should put that theory to the test,” she heard a voice say.

  She lifted her eyes in time to see Gideon’s mouth curve into a devastating smile. Awareness washed through her, pooling in one deep, very inappropriate spot. “W-what?”

  Those eyes were bluer than blue as he leaned forward. The pool got a little deeper. “How would you like to go to Manhattan?”

  Emma almost spat out her tea. “You mean, New York City?”

  “Unless they move the buildings someplace else, yes, New York City.”

  “Oh, sure,” she replied, realizing the question was rhetorical. Had to be rhetorical. “Right after I get back from Paris.”

  “I’m serious.”

  He was? She studied his expression. He was. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you asking me to go to New York?” There had to be a catch. The request was too spectacular, too out of the blue. People didn’t just hand out trips to the Big Apple.

  “Because I have to go, and I could use an assistant,” he replied with a shrug.

  And there it was. He needed a secretary. Emma should have realized that. Why else would he ask her?

  “Does your grandmother know you’re poaching her employees?” she asked.

  “No, but I don’t think she’ll mind. The trip was her idea.”

  Emma sat back. “Really?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. She wants me to meet with Ross Chamberlain.”

  Emma recognized the name from various memos and correspondence. He was Kent Hotels’ largest nonfamily shareholder. “Why you—?” Her hand flew to her lips as she realized how insulting the question must sound. “Sorry. I only meant why isn’t she sending one of the other Mr. Kents?” Why summon Gideon back to Boston, then send him to New York? That seemed a trifle eccentric, even for Mariah Kent.

  “That, Miss O’Rourke, is the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Let’s just say Mariah expects me to go.”

  And the world always did what she expected. Suddenly his earlier mood made sense.

  But still, why take Emma along? Kent Hotels had a host of secretaries at his disposal. Both here and in New York.

  “I don’t want one of the secretaries in New York,” he replied when she asked. “I want you.”

  She tried not to feel flattered by his answer. “What about your grandmother?”

  “Believe me, Mariah will survive.” He grinned. “I mean, it’s not like I’m taking away All My Loves.”

  “Now that would be a real loss,” Emma replied with a laugh.

  “Then it’s agreed. We’ll leave tomorrow afternoon.”

  Emma’s chuckle faded. “Tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No, I suppose not. I just didn’t realize you wanted to go so soon.”

  “The sooner I run this little ‘errand,’ the sooner I can get back to my own life. Can you arrange for the jet?”

  “Certainly.” Her head was swimming. She was flying to Manhattan. Tomorrow. That sort of thing didn’t happen. Not in her world. A thrill tripped down her spine. “I’ll go make the arrangements right now.”

  With that, she pushed herself away from the table. “Good night, Mr. Kent. Thank you for the tea.”

  “You’re welcome. Don’t work too hard. Oh, and Miss O’Rourke?” She was almost clear of the table when he called out to her.

  “Yes, Mr. Kent?”

  “We’ll be staying at the Landmark.” The corner of his mouth slowly quirked in a teasing smile that curled Emma’s toes. “I’m looking forward to hearing how you like the bed.”

  “Manhattan?” Leaning against the counter, Janet O’Rourke tapped her cigarette against the ashtray she held in her freshly manicured hand. “Don’t they have secretaries in New York? Why’d he ask you?”

  Emma shrugged. “He said he didn’t want a secretary from New York. He’s going on a business trip for his grandmother. Maybe he feels more comfortable taking someone from her office. And since I’m the only one he knows…” She shrugged again. Since Gideon issued his invitation, she’d asked herself the same question multiple times, and that was the best answer she could come up with.

  “Or maybe—” her mother’s eyes widened “—he’s interested in more than business.”

  “You’ve been watching too many movies, Mom.”

  Leave it to her mother to raise that theory. Janet O’Rourke saw romance everywhere. That was one of her biggest problems.

  “You never know. Is he good-looking?”

  “Attractive,” Emma admitted. And yes, she did know. She knew because of all the times she spent alone, fending for herself because Janet found true love—again—only to have to nurse her through a broken heart days later.

  Emma’s shoulders suddenly felt heavy. “How’d job hunting go?” she asked, changing the subject. “Any good leads?”

  “Nothing that piqued my interest.”

  Not a surprise. Most work failed to interest her mother. “Well, maybe tomorrow.”

  “Actually…”

  Emma stiffened. Whenever her mother started a sentence with the word actually, what followed wasn’t good.

  “Mary O’Leary and I were thinking of heading to the casino tomorrow. With luck, I’ll hit big
on the slots and won’t have to worry about work.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice.” Another one of Janet’s pipe dreams. Her mother had dozens of them, every one leading to disappointment.

  And Gideon Kent wondered why Emma didn’t want more than a comfortable bed. As far as she could tell, wanting more only cost you in the long run. You were better off not wanting at all.

  Life was safer that way.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “YOU EXPECT ME TO WHAT?”

  Gideon couldn’t decide which entertained him more: Hinckley making himself at home on the chaise lounge or the look on Mariah’s face when he told her she would be cat-sitting. “I can’t very well leave him locked on the boat while I’m gone. Someone has to feed him.”

  “That’s what staff are for.”

  He didn’t have the heart to tell her that in Hinckley’s book, she was staff. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Emma’s discreet smile, and resisted the urge to flash a conspiratorial wink.

  Mariah’s secretary was looking particularly blue today. Blue skirt, blue blazer, light blue turtleneck. Too bad this outfit wasn’t as form-fitting as yesterday’s dress. He liked seeing the curves.

  “It’s only for a couple days,” he told his grandmother.

  “You won’t even know he’s here.” Not much, anyway, he added silently as he watched Hinckley flop on his side. His length took up more than half the seat. “You’re the one who asked me to go to New York.”

  “I didn’t realize my request would result in wild animals being left on my doorstep. Bad enough you’ve stolen my secretary. By the way, Emma, do you have the latest earnings per share projections?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Jonathan Kent dropped them off this morning.”

  Hearing his father’s name, Gideon felt a dullness akin to an ache form in his chest. Since his return to Boston, he’d noticed the man who’d raised him had been conspicuously absent. Gideon couldn’t really blame him. No one liked being reminded of his mistakes. Or his wife’s. If he were in Jonathan’s shoes, Gideon would stay away, too.

  He swallowed back his emotions. “I’d like a copy of that report.”

  “Already done, Mr. Kent.”

  “I should have known. Now you know why I stole her,” he said to Mariah. “Who could resist such efficiency?”

  “Hmm. And making me suffer for sending you on this trip had nothing to do with it,” his grandmother replied.

  “Don’t be silly. That’s Hinckley’s job. Miss O’Rourke sealed her own fate.”

  She stared at him, her eyes impossibly large and dark. “Excuse me, I what?”

  “With your efficiency,” he replied. “How could I possibly take another assistant? Especially on such an important trip.”

  Actually, he didn’t really know why he had asked her along. He didn’t need a secretary for this meeting. Hell, he didn’t have to stay overnight. He could wrap up his business with Chamberlain in a few hours. Maybe he did want to punish Mariah.

  It was that conversation they’d had about the Landmark, that’s what it was. The whole exchange had started as harmless flirting, a diversion while waiting for Mariah’s show to end. But then Emma refused to offer her opinion. For crying out loud, his secretary in Saint Martin shared her opinions on everything, from the state of office supplies to Hinckley’s habit of leaving ‘dead mice’ on the office doorstep. Ninety-nine percent of the time, Gideon didn’t even have to ask.

  But he practically had to drag the answer out of Emma. Why? Especially when her opinion made sense. The design was cold.

  And who on earth wanted nothing but a comfortable bed? That particular comment had gnawed at him all night long. Emma’s pragmatism bothered him. A woman like her, fresh and sweet…shouldn’t she be full of silly romantic notions like sunken tubs built for two and balconies looking out at the stars?

  She definitely should want more than a good night’s sleep, he thought, eyeing her blue-clad figure.

  “As long as you keep Gerard Ambiteau in his place, you can take every secretary we have in the building,” Mariah was saying. She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “That man has no scruples whatsoever. I can feel him out there. He’s waited years to find our weak spot, and now he’s just waiting till the timing is right to make his move.”

  You couldn’t miss the stress in her voice. Though he’d grown up listening to rants about Gerard Ambiteau, this was the most worked up Gideon had ever seen his grandmother. She was worried—genuinely worried. She also had a point. Right now, Ross Chamberlain was a weak spot that Ambiteau could easily take advantage of.

  “I’ll talk sense into Ross, don’t you worry,” he assured her.

  She smiled “I know you will, darling. It’s one of the reasons I asked you back home.”

  One of. He knew the other. The plan wasn’t going to work.

  Emma cleared her throat. “If you want to avoid rush hour traffic, we should consider leaving soon. I’ve already called the front desk. The car’s ready whenever you are.”

  “See?” he said to Mariah. “Irresistibly efficient.”

  “I know. That’s why I hired her.”

  “And why I poached her.” He leaned over to kiss his grandmother’s cheek, then stepped over to scratch the top of Hinckley’s head. The cat was already sound asleep. “Behave,” he said.

  “Are you talking to me or the creature?”

  “I’ll let you two fight it out. Be careful, though. Hinckley fights dirty.”

  “So do I,” Mariah replied.

  Emma had retrieved her overnight bag and was already at the elevator when he finished his goodbyes. He caught up with her just as the doors slid open. “Are you ready to take a bite out of the Big Apple, Miss O’Rourke?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied with a nervous smile.

  She looked uneasy. Had done so, he realized, since he’d walked into Mariah’s office. What was shyness yesterday was now far more pronounced, almost anxiety. He could see the tension in her ramrod posture as she stood beside him, watching the numbers count down. Guilt pricked his conscience.

  “Everything all right?”

  He watched her shoulders stiffen. “I’m fine,” she replied shortly.

  “Are you sure?” There were smudges under her eyes, dark hollows a shade lighter than her uniform. “You look tired.”

  “Really, I’m fine.”

  Then why was she chewing the inside of her cheek? It was the Little Match Girl act all over again, he thought with irritation. Why didn’t she just say what was wrong instead of playing martyr?

  Unless… A thought struck him. “Miss O’Rourke,” he stated, “you’re not anxious about being in New York with me, are you?”

  She whipped her head around, her eyes a little wider than usual. “Of course not.”

  “Because I realize this trip is a little unorthodox.”

  “And I realize you wouldn’t be anything but professional, no matter what— Never mind.” She shook her head, leaving him to guess what she’d been about to say.

  “I’m fine, I promise.” He hated that word. There was no way on earth he was going to listen to her say it every five minutes on this trip.

  The elevator doors parted and Emma started toward the lobby. “One minute, Miss O’Rourke.” He stepped in front of her, blocking her progress. “Before we leave, we need to set a few ground rules.”

  “Ground rules?” Her features furrowed in confusion.

  “Like what?”

  “First of all, I don’t believe in mindless autonomy. I prefer my associates speak their minds. I expect you to speak your mind. Understand?” She nodded.

  “Good. Which leads me to ground rule number two. The next time you say the word fine, I’m going to hang you by that copper-colored ponytail of yours.”

  “What?” Her eyes grew dark and large, giving him a firsthand view of how expressive they could be. Expressive and innocent. Like the rest of her face. His own eyes fell to her lips, parted ever so s
lightly in surprise, and for a second he forgot what they were talking about.

  She reminded him, however. “You don’t want me saying the word fine?”

  “No, I don’t. Like I said, I prefer honest answers.”

  “‘Fine’ isn’t honest?”

  “My dear Miss O’Rourke.” He caught her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his, so there would be no misunderstanding what he was about to say. “Fine is the most dishonest answer there is.”

  He released her, surprised at how reluctant his fingers were to break contact. “Now,” he continued, stuffing his hand in his pocket, “let’s start over. You look a little off this afternoon, Miss O’Rourke. Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fi—” She caught herself. “I was up late working. This trip came on short notice, so I had to put in extra hours to make sure my desk was cleared.” Her concluding scowl was worthy of the most sulky of teenagers.

  “Now, that’s more like it.” Gideon felt a chuckle rising in his throat. Her eyes were sparkling now, like two big, annoyed diamonds. He liked the look. Slipping the overnight bad from her grasp, he swung it over his shoulder, cutting off her impending protest. “Come along. We have a plane to catch.”

  What kind of person banned another person from using a word? Especially a perfectly useful word like fine? Emma wondered, annoyed. She chewed the inside of her cheek as she allowed Gideon to guide her through the private terminal at Logan Airport. Bad enough her racing thoughts had kept her up half the night. Now she had to make her tired brain think of synonyms? She was having enough trouble acting as if she knew how to navigate her way through an airport.

  The terrible truth was that she wasn’t fine. She was uptight, exhausted and nervous as could be. Though not, as Gideon suggested, about going to New York with him. No, she was nervous about getting there. Although she’d arranged dozens flights on the Kent corporate jet, she’d never actually seen the plane up close—she’d never seen a plane up close, period—and she was desperately trying to fake a practiced air.

  Then there was Gideon, who overnight had morphed into a completely different person. Yesterday’s sailor, while rugged and compelling, still had an element of accessibility to him. Blame the ratty sweater and faded jeans, or the day-old growth of beard, but she’d felt as if she could talk to him. That man was gone, replaced by a businessman in a charcoal-gray suit and a crisp shirt the color of his eyes. He dripped with wealth and power. Skycaps, attendants, security guards—they all straightened respectfully upon his approach. He moved through the terminal with entitled nonchalance, raincoat draped over his arm, wordlessly communicating to everyone that he was a man not just at one with his environment, but in command of it. A sexy prince, to the manor born.