The Reluctant Cinderella

by Christine Rimmer

  The smile froze on her face.

  It was Rhonda Johnson, frizzy red hair smoothed carefully back, wearing a trim-looking summer shift, and cute yellow sandals on her tiny, freckled feet.

  “Megan.” Rhonda’s smile was the smile of a cobra—just before it opens its thin mouth wide and reveals its long, poisonous fangs. “I was hoping I’d catch you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Megan wasn’t fooled. Rhonda was much more than hoping to catch her. Rhonda and Irene made it their business to know the schedules of everyone in the neighborhood. If either of them wanted to catch you, they always did.

  Too bad Rhonda hadn’t arrived just a few minutes later. By then, Megan would have escaped—to Manhattan and the wonderful man who waited for her there….

  “I’ve got a little job for you.” Rhonda held up a plain sheet of white paper with notes scribbled all over it in a big, bold hand. “May I come in?” It sounded like a question. It wasn’t.

  Megan knew she should simply tell Rhonda no. Nothing good was going to come of inviting the woman in. Rhonda had seen her and Greg together, and Megan could tell by the anticipatory gleam in those cool gray eyes that the subject of Greg would come up. Rhonda would make sure that it did.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  Years of getting along and going along took over. Megan stepped to the side.

  Rhonda trotted on past her, headed for the family room, where she perched on the sofa, her delicate feet barely touching the floor. “What I’ve got is a flyer I need some help with. I know you need the business.” She patted the space beside her. “Sit right here. I’ll tell you what I’m after.”

  Megan grimly did as she had instructed.

  “Now,” said Rhonda, holding up her scribbled sheet of paper. “I need a three-fold mailer—you know, the kind where you use the flyer itself as the envelope? Red paper, I think. People tend to notice red. Or purple. Purple would be fine, too. The Rosewood Ladies Auxiliary is putting on their annual rummage sale and—” She sniffed. Delicately. “Why, Megan. Is that perfume?”

  “Yes,” Megan said with a soft sigh.

  “Very nice.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Very…sensual.” Rhonda let her voice trail off significantly. Then she started in again. “And I like what you’re wearing. This vivid teal is wonderful on you, though teal works well with almost any coloring. The cut is good, too. So…slimming.” She frowned, as if something had just occurred to her. “Are you going somewhere?”

  Megan sat a little a straighter. “Well, as a matter of fact, yes, I am. I’m going into the city for the day.”

  “Shopping?”

  She told the truth—“I have a date”—and instantly wished that she hadn’t.

  “Oh. How sweet.” And the cobra struck. “With Carly’s husband?”

  Megan took a slow breath. Her heart was knocking hard against her breastbone. She felt kind of sick to her stomach, too. She simply didn’t do conflict well. Not at home. Never at home….

  All at once, she was a child again. A child of eight. Or nine. Or ten. A child who’d lost her parents and her annoying little brother. A child who only wanted someone to love her, to accept her, to let her stay with them….

  Megan shut her eyes and shook her head. Reminded herself that she was a grown woman now, that those lonely years were well behind her.

  Somehow she managed to speak slowly and clearly. “Maybe you hadn’t heard. Carly is divorced.”

  Rhonda waved a slim, freckled hand. “Oh, yes. I heard. But everyone in the neighborhood knows she’s been hoping and praying that Greg will see the light and come back to her. I’m sure you know it. I mean, given that Carly considers you her friend.”

  Megan wondered what awful things Carly might have said to Rhonda—and then realized immediately that Carly would have said nothing. No matter how hurt and furious she might be, she would never discuss her private life with Rhonda Johnson.

  This was just business as usual. Rhonda had seen Carly with Greg and instantly jumped to her own conclusions.

  “People are talking,” Rhonda said primly. She actually reached over and patted Megan’s hand. Her touch was cool and smooth as the white belly of a poisonous snake. “I can’t say I agree with your actions. But if you need someone to confide in…I’m here, Megan. You can tell me. Everything. I’ll do my best to lend a friendly ear and keep an open mind about—”

  It was too much. Way over the line. Even for Megan, who was willing to put up with a lot to keep the peace on Danbury Way. She jumped to her feet. “Um. No.” She heard herself add, “Thank you,” and despised herself for her own inability to confront trouble on her home turf.

  Rhonda peered up at her, disapproval evident in every inch of her itsy-bitsy body. “Well. If that’s how you feel.”

  “It is.” The doorbell rang. “And that’s my ride. I have to go.”

  Twin lines had formed between Rhonda’s red brows. “But I haven’t finished telling you what I want for the flyer.”

  Megan gulped. “You know what? I’ve got a packed work schedule. I’m afraid I just won’t have time to do this one.”

  Rhonda blinked. “But it’s for the Ladies Auxiliary. An excellent cause. We need you to—”

  “Sorry. Can’t.” Megan backed toward the foyer and the front door. “And I really do have to go now….”

  At last, Rhonda slid her little bitty feet to the floor and stood. “Well. All right then,” she huffed. “I guess I’ll have to scramble around trying to find someone else to do the flyer at the last minute. But what do you care? You’re just too busy.”

  Megan said nothing. She’d only be stuttering out disgusting apologies, anyway. And why add fuel to Rhonda’s self-righteous fire?

  Rhonda flounced past her, headed for the foyer, leaving Megan to trail along behind her, feeling sick at heart and hating herself for caring so much that Rhonda would be spreading ugly rumors about her. The little redhead reached the door and flung it wide—to find Greg on the doorstep, looking heartbreaker-handsome in khakis and a polo shirt.

  Oh, Lord. He’d never mentioned he was coming to pick her up in person.

  “Well,” said Rhonda, snide as they come. “Look who’s here.”

  Greg got the picture. There was no way he could miss it. He said, carefully, “Hello, Rhonda.”

  The woman didn’t bother to reply. She just pinched up her mouth and strutted off down the steps. Megan and Greg watched her go. Neither of them moved or spoke until she disappeared from view.

  Finally, Greg asked, “What the hell was that?”

  “You don’t even want to know.” The limo waited at the curb for them, Jerry behind the wheel. “I’ll get my stuff and we can—”

  But Greg already had her by the shoulders. He walked her backward through the open door. Once they were in, he guided the door shut with his heel. Those deep brown eyes probed hers. “You’re white as a sheet. And you’re shaking….”

  “No…”

  “Yeah.”

  She admitted, “Rhonda dropped by to ask me to design a rummage sale flyer—or so she said. She really came to beat me up for stealing you from Carly.”

  He swore under his breath. “You didn’t steal me from anybody. Not that it’s any business of Rhonda Johnson’s, either way.”

  “Tell that to Rhonda. I doubt she’ll listen.”

  “Hey. Come here….” He pulled Megan against him. She stiffened at first, resisting his offer of comfort. But his warm arms felt so good—so cherishing—around her. After a moment, with a small, sad sigh, she cuddled in close.

  Greg kissed the crown of her head and whispered, “Don’t worry about Rhonda. She’s a bitch with way too much time on her hands.”

  Megan tipped her head up to him. “You’re right. And I know it. But she gets to me, anyway.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “What can I do? Anything. You name it.”

  “There’s nothing anyone can do about Rhonda.”

  �
�You’d be surprised. I might…kidnap that yippy little dog of hers. Hold it for ransom. Not give it back until Rhonda swears never to gossip again.”

  Megan arched a brow. “You want a dog?”

  “Rhonda’s dog? Hell, no.”

  “Well, if you try that, you’ll have Rhonda’s dog. Because Rhonda will never stop gossiping. Not even to get her Yorkie back.”

  “I could have her banned from Banning’s.”

  Megan faked an awestruck expression. “Including the post-holiday sale?”

  “Yeah. Even that.”

  She still had to shake her head. “I’m afraid even being blackballed from Banning’s wouldn’t make Rhonda Johnson keep her mouth shut.”

  “The woman is sick.”

  “No argument there.”

  Greg kissed Megan, a quick one. “And you’re smiling. At last.”

  “What do you know? I guess I am….” She lifted her mouth to him and slid her arms up around his neck. He took the hint and kissed her again—a long, sweet one that time, the very best kind.

  When they finally came up for air, he asked after Angela and the kids. Megan explained that the kids had gone with their father, and Angela was off at Rosewood Market doing the weekly shopping.

  “I’ll say hi next time, then.” Next time. Now, that did sound lovely. He added, “You ready?”

  “I’ll get my things….”

  They went shopping. At Banning’s.

  When Jerry dropped them off in front of the store, Megan teased, “A man who likes to shop. Is there such an animal?”

  Greg grunted. “It’s doubtful. I may run a department store chain, but I hate to shop as much as the next guy. There does come a time, though, when shopping is unavoidable. And this is it.”

  “Sounds grim.”

  “Let’s get it over with.” He led her through the glass doors, past the perfume and makeup counters, through women’s sportswear and into the big home furnishings section at the rear.

  A guy in a well-cut blue suit came running. His name tag said he was the department manager. “Mr. Banning. So good to see you again….”

  Greg nodded. “Ted. This is Megan.” The manager beamed her a thousand-watt smile. “Furniture,” Greg said. “We need a houseful. Three bedroom sets, dining room table and breakfast nook. And the works for the main living room.”

  Megan caught on. “Your house. In Rosewood…”

  He looked so pleased with himself. “Well, you did point out that it was empty. I’ve decided it’s time to do something about that.”

  Ted suggested gleefully, “Let’s start with the living room, shall we? Right this way….”

  It took them a couple of hours to settle on all the pieces. Greg kept insisting he needed Megan’s opinion, and she constantly reminded him, “It’s your house. You’re the one who has to live with what you choose.”

  “Help,” he said, and tried to look really pitiful.

  So she would make suggestions based on the house as she remembered it, choosing pieces she thought would go well in the large, comfortable rooms. A lot of neutrals, with occasional bright accent pieces, everything with clean, simple lines.

  He would say, “That’s good. I really like that,” to just about every suggestion she made.

  Ted, beaming the whole time, agreed with her choices, as well.

  When they had what Greg needed to furnish each room, he paid the huge invoice without batting an eye, and told Ted where to have it all delivered. “Call me at the office,” he said. “I’ll be sure someone’s there to let the delivery crew in.”

  “Absolutely, Mr. Banning. You can count on me.”

  They went to major appliances. Megan helped Greg decide on a washer and dryer combination.

  From there, they went to housewares, where, once again, Greg had her doing the choosing for him. She picked out good china and everyday dishes, flatware and silver, glassware and crystal. Not to mention a huge array of chef-quality cookware and kitchen gadgets, utensils and small appliances.

  When the housewares saleslady added everything up and Megan saw the total, she stifled a gasp—and then teased Greg that he would end up broke if he didn’t watch himself.

  “Hey. I’m getting the employee discount.” And he whipped out his platinum card and passed it to the saleslady, who was beaming every bit as widely as the guy in the furniture department had done.

  Megan watched Greg as he signed on the dotted line. He told the salesclerk that he’d already bought furniture and he would be buying towels and bedding and whatever else he could think of that he might need in his new house. He wanted everything sent to the Rosewood address.

  “Coordinate with Ted in home furnishings and Marlene in major appliances. I want it all brought up to Rosewood at the same time.”

  The housewares lady bobbed her head eagerly. Anything for Mr. Banning….

  Megan wondered what it would be like, being Greg Banning. Your every wish someone else’s command. To her, it seemed magical and glamorous: a limo always waiting to take him wherever he wanted to go, salespeople eager to see that he got exactly what he wanted.

  And women…

  Well, there must be women, mustn’t there? Other women than Megan, that is—and Carly.

  Megan thought of her former friend with the usual twinge of guilt. Was Carly doing all right? Megan did hope so….

  And then Greg glanced over and smiled at her, and she pushed the guilty thoughts away. He was, truly, a prince of a guy. And Megan couldn’t help but notice the way other women—gorgeous, sophisticated-looking women—noticed him. So far today, right there in Banning’s, Megan had spotted more than one striking woman who had glanced at him—and looked again.

  Like when they’d first entered the store. A stunning brunette had paused in midstride at the sight of him, her fawnlike gaze lingering on his broad shoulders, his movie-star-handsome face. And what about that petite blonde with the sexy, spiky hair behind the cosmetics counter? She’d tried so hard to catch his eye—and when he didn’t even glance her way, she’d ended up frowning at Megan with a truly unflattering mixture of puzzlement and disbelief.

  And what about the gorgeous Asian woman in home furnishings? She’d lingered nearby as Megan helped Greg choose those three bedroom sets, pretending to study the various floor displays, but actually waiting for him to look over and see her standing there.

  He hadn’t—not that Megan could tell, anyway.

  So strange. He seemed totally unaware of all the beautiful women who wanted him to glance their way. But when it came to Megan, he behaved as if he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

  It was…kind of dizzying, really. To have a guy like Greg so interested in her. Heady and exciting and just a little bit unreal. She kept thinking she should pinch herself, to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

  And that made her want to laugh out loud. After all, as she’d told him yesterday, if he wanted to adore her, he should go right on ahead.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked as they left the housewares department. It was after four.

  “Starved. Let’s eat.”

  They had hot dogs from a street vendor, Jerry in the limo trailing them as they strolled along 34th Street, laughing and chatting, discussing how Greg’s new furniture ought to be arranged in each room, eating their lovely, late, junk-food lunch.

  Then came more shopping. They stopped in at Macy’s.

  Greg teasingly threatened, “Don’t ever tell anyone at Banning’s I was here.”

  “Never,” Megan vowed.

  They bought Egyptian cotton towels and linens for the master bedroom in a really nice sage-green and gray—and then moved on to Bloomingdales, where he picked up some lamps and a couple of occasional tables for the entryway. From Bloomies they went on to Saks.

  Finally, they returned to Banning’s, where she made him do some choosing—of various vases and mirrors and other decorative touches.

  It was after eight when they finally called it quits. They went to a quie
t little place in the Village for a leisurely dinner. They talked about anything and everything. He told her more about growing up a Banning, and she elaborated on her plans for Design Solutions.

  At a little before eleven, they emerged onto the darkened Greenwich Village street. Jerry was right there waiting, with the limo.

  Greg pulled her close beneath the streetlamp for a quick, sweet kiss. Then he told Jerry, “Take us to the apartment,” and a naughty little thrill went shivering through her. Greg sent her a warm glance. “Okay with you?” She nodded. He kissed her again. “Good.”

  In the plush comfort of the car, when he reached for her hand, she twined her fingers with his. By then, to Megan, the night ahead seemed meant to be—their night. Together. In the most intimate way. At last.

  The limo glided to a stop at the curb. Jerry held the door for them and they got out. Megan waited, a tingle of anticipation making her feel all shivery inside, as Greg paid the driver and sent him on his way.

  In the apartment, Greg offered wine. She accepted. They kicked off their shoes and sat on that gorgeous Italian leather couch of his, in the moody, shadowed light provided by the single lamp he’d lit.

  He touched his glass to hers. “To a good day. The best. You. Me…”

  “And your platinum credit card.”

  He leaned closer for a brushing kiss. “Admit it. You like a man with a big…wallet.”

  She sipped her wine. It was excellent. “A big wallet is nice. But first and foremost, a man should have a sense of humor.”

  “You women always say that.”

  “Because it’s true.”

  “What else—after the sense of humor?”

  “He should be a good kisser. Definitely.”

  He kissed her again. “I’m working on it.”

  “Truth is, you started out fabulous and you only got better from there.”

  “Now, that’s what I like to hear.”

  “Not that I’m exactly an expert…” In fact, she was so far from being an expert on kissing, it was laughable.