The Cinderella Obsession

by Carew, Amber

  Mom's soft sigh whispered over the line. "Gill, you know I don't like to make trouble."

  Gill knew that only too well. When her stepfather had been busy ripping Gill to shreds, making her feel like the most incompetent fool on earth, Mom had held her silence. Afterwards, she'd picked up the pieces of Gill's self-esteem and helped patch it together again, but Gill had always wished she'd stepped in and actually spoken up for her.

  Did this Farraday Junior's father berate him? Gill wondered. Probably not. He was probably spoiled rotten and living grand on his daddy's cash. He probably got anything he wanted. He wanted a wife, so Daddy just ordered his minion to stick an ad in the paper and get him one.

  Her gaze flicked to the first line of the ad. Virgin wanted. It sounded like an ad for a human sacrifice. Probably marrying Farraday Jr. would be about as much fun as being thrown into a volcano.

  Actually, it would probably be Dullsville in the extreme. After all, what kind of personality could the guy have if he needed his father to find a wife for him? She'd have thought that even if his attractions were minimal, he'd have been able to find someone willing to marry him with all his money. Of course, that's what they'd be flaunting with this ad. And it would probably work. Most women found wealth a great attraction, even if Gill didn't.

  Gill found it hard to believe the son would actually go along with something like this. Would he just calmly let his father pick out a wife for him? And how would a father come up with an idea like this? She could just imagine Farraday calling a meeting of his staff and calmly discussing the steps for a bride hunt. Probably called for a statistical analysis to determine the percentage of virgins available in the population around Ottawa and a market report to decide what would attract the appropriate age group. Gill shook her head, suppressing a giggle.

  "So, how did this all start?" she asked.

  "Well, Mr. Farraday has been suggesting Jeremy get married for quite a while now, but Jeremy—like all children it seems—is resisting. I think it's as much to annoy his father as anything else."

  "Mom, I'm sure this guy doesn't run his life just to annoy his father."

  "Sometimes I wonder. Anyway, Jeremy just got back last week—remember I told you he went off to manage a project in Japan?—and his father tried to pin him down on when he'd find a wife. Well, maybe Jeremy's been thinking about things, you know, because a close friend of his lost a brother recently and sometimes that makes you think about where your own life is going. Anyway, to make a long story short—"

  "Too late, Mom." Gill smiled, as Mom carried on, totally oblivious to her teasing comment.

  "Jeremy told him he hasn't married yet because he's looking for a woman who's ... shall we say ... saved herself for marriage." Mom ignored Gill's snort of disapproval.

  Saved herself? Good heavens. This guy must be straight out of the Dark Ages. "That explains why such an attractive catch is still unattached at thirty-one. He also wants a woman who's near his own age."

  Gill traced her finger along the outline of the airplane depicted on her purple coffee mug. "I'll bet there aren't many women of that description floating around."

  "Precisely my point. That's why you'd be so perfect."

  Gill clamped her eyes shut. She should have seen this coming. "Why do you think I fit the bill?"

  "Oh, don't be silly, dear."

  Gill resented the fact Mom thought she knew her so well. But she didn't call her on it. Gill valued their closeness as much as Mom did. Mom had always believed in her, had always made her believe in herself. Unlike her stepfather.

  "I think he'd be perfect for you."

  "You think his bank book would be perfect for me, you mean."

  "Darling, there's nothing wrong with marrying a wealthy man."

  "There is if that's the only reason for marrying him." She took a sip of lukewarm coffee.

  "So far, you haven't found a good reason for marrying anyone. Or even dating, for that matter," she grumbled. "But I think once you got to know Jeremy you wouldn't be marrying him for his money."

  "So you've told me."

  "And he's gorgeous." Mom's voice had slipped into her persuasive tone.

  "Great. So I should marry him for his looks instead." She plunked her cup on the table.

  "That's not what I meant."

  "Mom, you know how I feel about rich men."

  Her mother's voice softened. "Yes, I know, dear. But you've got to remember, your stepfather was only one man. Not all rich men are like Eric," Mother continued, "and I can personally guarantee that Jeremy isn't."

  Oh, Mom. You and I just don't see the world the same way. All rich men are selfish and power-hungry. That's how they get to be rich.

  "I don't want to talk about this."

  Gill could hear a tapping sound from the other end of the line, probably her mother playing with a pen, as she tended to do while on the phone. "Gill, if you'd just meet Jeremy...."

  "Don't start on that again! I don't want to meet him. And I definitely don't want to marry him."

  Gill picked up the red pen lying in front of her and, as she reached across the table to drop it back in the cup, she accidentally knocked her mug and spilled a few drops of coffee on the newspaper. She snatched some tissues from the box on the side table and blotted up the blobs of dark liquid.

  "How do you know if you don't—"

  "Stop pushing. Why would you push your only daughter off on some stranger, anyway?"

  "Jeremy's not a stranger."

  "He is to me," Gillian shrilled.

  "Okay, Gill. Calm down. Look, let's forget all this nonsense for now. We haven't seen each other for a while. Why don't you come downtown and we'll have lunch?"

  "I don't have time, Mom. I have a lesson starting at one. I could come over tonight, though."

  "Why don't you come for an early lunch, then?" Her voice switched back to that reasonable, persuasive tone she did so well. "If you got here around eleven thirty, we could be finished in time."

  Why did Gill have the feeling Mom was up to something? "I don't know." She glanced at her watch. Ten thirty. "It'll be pretty tight."

  "Look, I have to go now. I'm due at a meeting in five minutes. Meet me at eleven-thirty. Please?"

  It had been over a week since they'd gotten together. Gill had canceled their dinner last Tuesday because she'd had to work late. She sighed. "Okay, Mom."

  "Thanks, honey. And, Gill ... wear something nice, will you? Not the usual leather jacket and jeans. I like you to look presentable when you come to my office."

  Gill started having second thoughts.

  "And not too flashy. Your black suit with a nice white blouse would be appropriate."

  "Mom—"

  "Good-bye, dear. Got to go."

  Mom hung up before Gill could finish her protest. How could someone Gill loved so much be so annoying? She called work to check her afternoon schedule, then went to shower and dress—in her scarlet suit—with a nice white blouse.

  * * * *

  Gill arrived at her mother's office building at quarter after eleven, checked in at reception in the lobby, and grabbed the first free elevator up. She patted her hair—coiled at the back of her head and held by a gold barrette—checking for loose tendrils. This hairdo, her only other concession to her mother's request to dress conservatively, caused a tugging weight at the back of her head, giving her a headache. Maybe she ought to take it down, she thought, just as the elevator doors swished open. Too late.

  "Gillian. There you are." Gillian's mother stood waiting on the eighth floor and climbed aboard. "I've got to drop off some papers in the executive office before we go."

  She pushed the button for the twenty-second floor.

  "Can't you do that when we get back?" Gill didn't want to be late. The doors closed and the elevator proceeded upwards.

  "It'll only take a minute, honey."

  She eyed Gill's outfit critically, but said nothing. They rode in silence all the way to the top. Gill tugged at the hem o
f her blazer. She tried to push aside the feelings of inadequacy that accompanied the thought of visiting the office of a rich man like Farraday. She would not be intimidated.

  When they stepped off the elevator, Gill glanced around, feeling a little overwhelmed despite her resolve. Large potted palms stood between each elevator column and a plush sage green carpet covered the floor. A svelte blonde woman sat behind a cream colored desk with the slightest tinting of rose in the wood grain. She glanced up at their arrival and smiled.

  "Hi, Claire. How are you?"

  "Fine, Rita. I've got something for Jeremy." She waved the manila folder in her hand. "Is he here?" She glanced around expectantly.

  "No, he's moving into his apartment today. You know him. He won't leave it to movers. He has to have a hand in it himself."

  He doesn't trust them, you mean, Gill thought. Typical rich-man attitude.

  "It's too bad you hadn't stopped by ten minutes earlier," the woman went on. "He was here to pick up some papers he wants to review over the weekend." She took the envelope from Mom and glanced at the label. "Does he need this in a rush? I could courier it to him."

  While Mom and Farraday's secretary discussed the details of shipping documents, Gill wandered to the sitting area just past the reception desk. Floor to ceiling windows spanned one side of the area and two inviting off-white leather couches sat in a cozy arrangement around a square glass coffee table, set to take advantage of the view. Gill stared at the city laid out below them, Dow's Lake glittering in the afternoon sunlight.

  The white glint of an aircraft in the clear depths of the sky caught her attention.

  Oh, drat! She hadn't verified that Puff, her favorite aircraft, would be ready for her one o'clock lesson. She'd booked Puff last week, but the plane had gone in for regular maintenance yesterday and they'd hit a few snags.

  Gill opened her purse to grab her cell phone, but it wasn't there. She must have left it charging at home.

  She glanced around for a phone and, when she didn't see one, strode back to the secretary's desk. "I need to make a quick call."

  The woman waved at the phone on her desk. "Go ahead." She clicked the button beside the label 'Line 2' and pushed the phone toward the edge of the desk, holding out the receiver. Gill stepped closer and took it, then dialed the number for the airport.

  "Hi, Suzie? It's Gill." She turned away from Mom and the secretary so her voice wouldn't interfere with their conversation, then leaned back against the edge of the desk.

  "Hi, Gill. What's up?"

  "I'm not sure if I have an aircraft for my one o'clock lesson."

  "You're booked with George, right?" Suzie asked and Gill murmured an affirmative response. "Let me check."

  Gill heard the clicking of keys and knew Suzie was glancing through the appointments on the computer.

  "Puff is penciled in here."

  "I know, but she was still being serviced last I heard."

  "Oh, right, that leaky oil thing. Hang on."

  Gill heard Suzie shout to someone in the background and a moment later she came back on the line. "No problem. She's all set."

  "Thanks, Suzie. See you at one."

  Gill hung up the phone, and turned to see a gray-haired man in a navy suit get off the elevator. She stood up and tugged the hem of her blazer to straighten any wrinkles that had formed, then brushed down the sides. His keen blue eyes skimmed her suit from collar to hem and his mouth puckered into a frown.

  "Mr. Farraday." The secretary stood up with Mother's envelope and a couple of file folders in her hand. "I have a few errands to run before this afternoon's meeting."

  The man nodded and the woman hurried away. His gaze settled on Mother.

  "Claire," he said. "Is this a new employee for me to meet?"

  "No, Mr. Farraday. This is my daughter, Gillian."

  His gaze intensified as it shifted back to Gill and she quelled an overwhelming urge to fold her hands in front of her and drop her gaze to the ground. Instead, she hiked up her shoulders and met his frank scrutiny head on.

  "So, you finally got her in here, did you? Well, come on, young lady. Let's have a little chat."

  Her back stiffened. Mom may have to answer to this man, but Gill didn't. "No, I'm sorry, Mr. Farraday," Gill responded. "Mom and I were just off to lunch and I really don't have time—"

  "Nonsense." He grasped Gill's elbow and led her toward his office door.

  Gill narrowed her eyes as she glanced back at Mom, silently demanding she get her out of this situation. Mom sent back a pleading look. That look that begged her not to make trouble. That look Gill knew she could not ignore. After all, Mom had trained her over twenty-eight years. Gill sighed, knowing she'd been bamboozled. Had Mom planned this all along? Or was she just taking advantage of opportune timing?

  Gill tugged her arm free and followed Farraday through the office door hating the position Mother had forced on her. The inside of the executive office, even more plush than the reception area, was as intimidating as it was impressive. Gillian hated blatant displays of wealth and, even knowing that a company must have an office that reflects a positive financial position, the luxurious trappings made her uncomfortable. More floor to ceiling windows made up one wall of Mr. Farraday's office, sending dazzling sunlight into the room, bouncing off the highly polished surface of his glossy mahogany desk.

  Mom walked past the dark green leather chairs surrounding a square cherry wood coffee table towards the desk where Farraday sat watching them with sharp blue eyes.

  "Sit down," Mr. Farraday said, indicating the chairs opposite him

  Mom sat down, tugging Gill into the seat beside her.

  "So, Claire, this is the daughter you've told me so much about." Farraday circled around her, inspecting every detail of her appearance, from the upswept coil of her dark, chestnut hair, down the trim lines of her fitted, red linen suit, to the tips of her matching red pumps. "She certainly is as pretty as you claimed. I wondered, knowing that through a mother's eye...."

  Gill felt her cheeks flame. The off-hand compliment, meant more as an appraisal of an asset, set her teeth grating. She kept her mouth clamped shut, reminding herself this was her mother's employer and that she didn't want to get her mother in trouble. It took a great deal of convincing.

  "I know what you mean, Mr. Farraday." Mom beamed, as though the compliment had been directed at herself. "And she's very clever, too. She has a university degree."

  His eyebrows arched. "In what? Home Economics?"

  Gill seethed even more.

  "Now, really, Mr. Farraday," Mom countered. "You know women do more than stay at home and take care of the house nowadays. Look at me."

  Gill groaned inwardly. Her mother worked in personnel, an area where women were well accepted. Gill would bet there weren't any women on the technical side of Mr. Farraday's business.

  "Let the girl talk for herself, Claire. Well, Gillian?"

  "I have a degree in Mathematics with an Engineering option."

  "Eh?" His keen gray eyes narrowed, skepticism oozing from him.

  "Mechanical Engineering," Gill clarified.

  This man reminded her of her stepfather. Eric had ridiculed her efforts in school. To the point of making her believe she'd never amount to anything. He'd always made her feel like an incompetent fool. But despite that, she'd made it through university—in a man's field no less—and her dream career was within grasp.

  "So, you're an engineer?"

  "No. Not exactly...."

  "You earned a degree and then didn't use it?" He narrowed his eyes. "I've heard of women who go to university to earn their MRS."

  In other words, to find a husband. Gill stood up and sucked in a large gulp of air, ready to spill a torrent of angry words in response, but her mother grabbed her arm and pulled her back into her chair.

  "Gill's not like that. She's the type of person who likes to be well prepared for anything she undertakes. She wants to be a commercial pilot. And if that doesn't work
out, her qualifications will help her pursue other things."

  Farraday shook his head. "None of that really matters. She won't need a career if she marries my son. Being smart is good, though. Jeremy doesn't like the dumb blond type."

  Her stomach clenched in a tight, hard knot. If I marry his son? Does he think I'm here because of that stupid ad? This time when Gill shot to her feet, she stepped out of Mom's reach. "What do you mean if I—?"

  Farraday fixed her with a sharp stare. "Well, you don't automatically get the position, you know. I want to make sure you're appropriate before presenting you to him."

  Presenting me to him? Good heavens. It sounded like she was to be some kind of gift. "Well, you can just—"

  "Gillian, please." Her mother's words cut across what would have been a very rude retort. Mom might be soft spoken, but she could find volume when the situation demanded it. At her do-as-I-say-or-I'll-strangle-you look, Gillian glared at her.

  If this man says one more offensive thing—

  "Speaking of appropriateness," Farraday started, now seated at his desk. "My son is looking for a woman who can, shall we say, wear white to the wedding. I was very pleased to hear that my son holds such virtue in high esteem."

  Yeah, right. As if he's followed those axioms himself. The words scuttled through Gill's mind but she successfully kept them to herself. Barely.

  Mr. Farraday folded his hands on his desk and stared straight into Gill's eyes, assessing. "I assume you meet the requirements?"

  Gill stiffened her spine and drew in a deep breath ready to sputter out some cutting remark.

  "Yes, she does," Mom interjected.

  "And why is that?"

  Gill blinked, thrown off by his audacity. "I beg your pardon?"

  "It seems very odd to me that such an attractive girl hasn't hopped into the sack with someone, given the morals of today's young people. Is there something wrong with you?"

  Wrong with me? WRONG WITH ME? This man who was looking for a virgin wife for his son by interviewing women in his business office was asking if there was anything wrong with her?

  "That does it!" Gill retorted. "I don't have to put up with this." She turned on her heel and stomped toward the door.