“Create a file for me of what I’m wearing from head to toe for each event so that I don’t have to think about it on that given day,” he instructed the assistant. With Abella’s care always on his mind, it was more important than ever that he simplify everything else. Plus, while in Cannes he planned to devote himself to chairing the APCF gala and making it the event of the season, and he needed as much time as possible to do so.
In fact, he’d be leaving the penthouse soon to go to the APCF office to meet with the event manager there. The agency’s director, Felice, had informed him that the previous manager had suddenly left. Zander hoped his replacement would be up to the task of creating the kind of spectacular evening he had in mind.
If there was one thing Zander knew about, it was raising money. He made a great deal of public appearances to support good works all over the world. He gave his time and his notability freely, making it his life’s work in fact. Now it was payback time. He expected many of his wealthy friends and acquaintances to donate generously to the APCF gala.
“I’ll wear the white-jacketed tux for the Clean Water for Africa fund-raiser,” he began. Most of the tuxedos were all black. One had traditional notch lapels, another a thin shawl collar that gave it a retro look. “This one for the cocktail reception with the film festival judges.”
Another was made of velvet, a fabric that was considered very chic right now although Zander wasn’t convinced it suited him. He didn’t assign that one to an evening. There was the two-button he’d wear with a black shirt. Then the charcoal with the double-breasted jacket, the navy with the black lapels that he quite liked, the all-navy one and the peak-lapel gunmetal gray.
“White shirt with everything but the two-button.”
Finally, he inspected the unusual tuxedo for the Mexican-themed gala that his stylist had ordered. With heavy black embroidery atop the shinier black fabric of the jacket’s lapels, it was a unique piece that would fit well with the evening.
After rattling off instructions for everything from cuff links to socks, Zander turned to the second closet. There were a dozen suits with coordinating shirts, ties and shoes. Casual clothes suitable for boating or country drives. Golf and tennis wear. Beach attire. Everything was in order.
Except his mind. Thoughts of the constant socializing and the superficial women who gravitated toward him, who cared only about what they could get from him, all felt so stale. Maybe it was the baby, but a longing was starting to grow in him. For something different. Something new.
He’d RSVP’d for all the season’s events as a party of two, not willing to face the firing squad alone, but really having no idea whom he’d bring along as his plus one. He’d planned to think of a platonic friend he could make easy chitchat with. Who wouldn’t immediately misread his invitation to accompany him as a proposal into his world.
Misjudging a woman’s intentions had only too recently stung him hard.
Frankly, he couldn’t think of a woman who would fit the bill, but he’d deal with that later.
Zander left his bedroom suite. Although he told himself he’d only poke his head in to see if she was fully awake, he instead gently pushed open the door and slipped into baby Abella’s bedroom.
“Well, look at you, Bell-bell.” She was sitting upright in her crib, her curly blond hair tousled this way and that. “You’re all the way awake already.”
“Up time,” she said, having only recently begun attempts at true conversation. “Up.”
“Yes, Bell-bell. Up.”
No further prompting was required. Zander hurried to the side of her crib to reach in, put each of his hands under the baby’s arms and lift her out. He brought her against his left shoulder, as had become his routine after Iris had taught him the proper way to securely hold a baby. Zander could never figure out what the gaga noise Abella made was meant to signify, but she always did it when he picked her up.
She twisted herself sideways a bit to stare at Zander’s face.
His eyes met hers. It was like looking in a mirror. Those dark brown, almost black, almond-shaped eyes that they had in common. The same almond eyes that his sister, Elise, had had. He could never look at Abella without thinking of his sister, his heart shattering at missing her so. Wishing he could rewrite the past so that Elise could be here right now and see how much Abella was growing and developing.
Zander and Abella continued the eye lock that they did frequently. Which he took as some kind of unspoken declaration of mutual love.
“Da,” Abella said.
Da. As in Daddy.
“No, Bell-bell. Uncle Zander. Can you say Zander?”
“Da.”
“Zan. How about you say Zan?”
“Da.”
Each time she uttered that syllable it was with more determination and certainty than the time before, despite his protests. The word filled Zander with confusion about the decisions that were going to have to be made. Maybe not today, but soon.
He held the baby closer, inhaling the lovely smell of that fruity, organic and toxin-free shampoo Iris used on her hair.
As Zander carried Abella into the living room, a grocer arrived with food. Iris came toward him to take Abella if that was what he so desired.
Not ready to let go just yet he said, “I’ll hold her for a while.”
With all the comings and goings, the front door was left open. Three quick knocks against the doorjamb brought Zander’s attention. It was the penthouse’s rental agent, who upon spotting Zander, folded one arm rigidly across his waist and bowed forward. He sputtered in a nervous voice, “Is everything to your liking, Your Highness?”
* * *
Four hours passed before Marie looked up from her laptop. Having combed through every single file her predecessor, Jic, had left, she finally had a grasp of what information there was and what more was required for her to move forward with the APCF events calendar.
She hadn’t been privy to why Jic abruptly up and left his position, only that he’d had some personal problems to attend to. The fact that some of the files were in decent shape and others were an indecipherable hodgepodge told her that Jic’s departure had been hasty and unplanned. He hadn’t left clear instructions for whoever was to take over. Marie had made as many notes as she could and jotted down questions to ask Felice at the end of the day.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something dark beyond the glass separating her office from the main work floor. As she lifted her face from the computer screen, what met her gaze was quite a surprise.
A man had his arm up, hand making a fist as if he was just about to knock on the glass to get her attention. But it wasn’t just any man. It was, without question, the most attractive man Marie had ever seen in her life. At least six feet three inches tall, he wore a black shirt tucked into black pants with a brown belt, topped by a brown jacket. She thought the combination of the black and brown was impossibly tasteful.
The color palette didn’t stop with the clothes. His unusually shaped eyes were the darkest of browns, practically black, with his defined bone structure forming an unforgettable face. The crowning touch was a full head of thick, straight blond hair, expertly cut so that some fell forward from his forehead and the rest stayed put around his ears. Marie was sure there was never a hair out of place on the man’s head.
Because he had frozen midknock, it was as if she was looking at a still photo. So she jolted when he moved to lower his arm and flash her a megawatt smile. His perfectly white teeth all but glistened in the office’s harsh overhead lighting. Marie smiled back, no idea who he was or why he was in her doorway. But it wasn’t often—okay, never—that an elegant and gorgeous man was grinning at her. She’d be crazy not to smile back.
While it was difficult to do anything but sit there and stare at the magnificent specimen of the human race, it occurred to Marie that she should get up and open the
door to see who he was. Standing and moving toward him, she hoped her pants weren’t too creased from sitting at the computer for so long. She hadn’t checked her hair in hours, either, and knew that it could be an absolute mop at this point. Her lipstick had faded ages ago.
There was nothing she could do about any of that.
“Can I help you?” Marie asked after opening her door.
“Are you Marie?”
“Yes.”
“Felice suggested I see you.”
“Okay.”
“I’m Zander de Nellay.”
Oh. The gala’s chairperson. Marie had been reading about him in the files.
Jic had noted three facts about Zander. Wants what he wants. Insists everything be of top-notch quality. Offering to pay the difference if anything goes over budget.
That seemed fair enough to Marie. On the private handwritten notes, Jic had doodled a little crown above Zander’s name. Marie wondered if Jic was indicating that he was kind of a diva, or thought he was a king, or that he was formal and fussy.
“Marie Paquet.” She thrust out her hand for a handshake. His joined hers in what she figured would be a traditional business greeting between two people who had never met.
The last thing she was expecting was for his hand to be big and strong and to convey friendliness rather than protocol. She surely wasn’t prepared for the affection coming from the center of his palm to slide up her arm and down the entire right side of her body, so robust it actually made her torso bend toward it.
Once she was able to stand up straight again, she gestured for him to enter her office and closed the door behind them.
“I’m sorry. I’ve just started today so I haven’t had a chance to set up,” Marie felt compelled to explain. She didn’t want him thinking she was some kind of slob with the boxes and stacks of paper everywhere cluttering up such a nice office. That was a sore spot with her because once people learned about her troubled upbringing, they assumed she was somehow unorganized or nonfunctional. It was always an uphill battle to prove them wrong.
“That’s fine,” Zander dismissed her concern. “This was Jic’s office up until a couple of days ago and it was in the same condition then.”
“Do you know why he left so suddenly?”
“I was expecting you to have the answer to that question.”
“I’m sorry I don’t.”
Marie brushed her bangs to the side and tamped down her hair. She didn’t know why she was nervous around this man, other than that he was the gala chair. It wasn’t just that he was good-looking. Maybe it was that he had an undeniable air of style and class about him. Which was something Marie always admired in people. Traits that she surely knew nothing about, having grown up in whatever was the opposite of grace and refinement.
Wow, Zander de Nellay was tall. Fairly petite herself, Marie had to lean her head back to see his eyes. Although she didn’t like his expression when he looked down at her. Because she imagined he was looking down at her.
And she’d sure as heck had enough of that in her life.
Marie reminded herself that she was projecting that onto Zander. She didn’t know him well enough to be able to read his thoughts on anything, and he didn’t know anything about her. A man like him, chair of a huge charity event, wearer of fine clothes, possessor of a splendid face, probably wasn’t even thinking about how inexpensive Marie’s trousers were or that she needed a haircut.
“Can I offer you a water or a coffee?” Felice had stressed that she was to do everything she could to assist Zander.
“I brought some.” He placed his computer bag onto one of the chairs around the meeting table and pulled out his laptop and a bottle of gourmet sparkling water. “Do you have cups?”
Marie looked around the office she’d not yet had a minute to personalize. Near the telephone was a stack of disposable cups. “It seems I do,” she reported and reached for them.
Zander twisted the cap off the bottle with a flourish Marie couldn’t help but note. When a bit of carbonation from inside was set free, it hissed. Which was exactly how Marie was starting to feel in Zander’s presence. Like she might need to let out some bubbles soon so as not to explode.
After the drinks were poured and Zander had booted up his laptop, they began.
“Why don’t you bring your chair closer and we can work from my screen?” he suggested.
Even though she’d been in the exact same configuration with Felice earlier in the day, sitting next to Zander was another proposition entirely. Her awareness of him was palpable. His entire body emanated warmth. It hadn’t been coming from just his palm when he’d shaken her hand.
Her fists opened and closed involuntarily.
Zander reached in his bag for something else. But when he glanced at what he retrieved, a quick smirk flashed across his face and he stuffed whatever it was back in. A second dig yielded the USB drive he’d been searching for. Naturally, curiosity racked Marie as to what the first item was.
“As I understand it,” he said while reading, “the components are venue, theme, invitations, arrivals. Then there is food and beverages, rentals of tables and chairs, tableware, bar setup, buffets. Flowers, linens, tech, photography, band, auction, speeches and volunteers.”
“The venue is booked and invitations have been sent, according to Jic’s notes.”
“Yes, months ago. Have you seen them?”
“No, I’ve only just started on the job today.”
“There’s no need to make excuses. I was merely asking if you’d seen them.”
“I’m sorry. I hope they’re in one of these boxes.” Marie pointed to the disarray she’d inherited on her desk.
“And no need to apologize.” Zander reached into his bag again and located one of the invitations. He handed it to Marie.
Wants what he wants. Marie reread Jic’s note about Zander. That was fine. Marie was detail oriented, too. That’s how she’d gotten as far as she had in the APCF agency. By learning to be diligent. Not a skill she’d had any example of growing up. Except maybe toward all the wrong things.
The lavender cardstock invitation had all of the basic information. The name of the mansion that had been converted into a party location. The event date and time.
“I thought of these as more of a save the date kind of announcement,” Zander commented. “They have no pizzazz. And they don’t mention the theme.”
“Had a theme been decided on? I don’t see anything about it in my notes.”
“No. And with three weeks to go, it’s rather late in the game to be planning a big theme. But we must. I want this to be one of the most successful benefits of the social season. We have to pull out all of the stops.”
Marie only theoretically understood what Zander was saying. She’d heard of lavish balls in which moneyed guests came dressed as animals or as gangsters from the 1920s. High concepts that were designed to make the evening as impressive as it could be. With the idea that would bring in the highest donations, sponsorships and auction proceeds.
“I’ve only been associated with this organization for a year myself,” Zander said as he scrolled through his files. “Has the annual APCF gala utilized a theme in the past? How big were the previous galas?”
“I don’t know. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can with that information.”
“I understand that the APCF’s invitation list is five hundred. And I’ve added my own personal five hundred. Has the agency hosted a fund-raiser of that size before?”
“I’ll get the answer to that as soon as I can.”
“How do you not know this? Didn’t they brief you?”
“I’m sorry,” Marie started again, but was getting pretty tired of apologizing. “As soon as I gather all of the information, I’ll report back to you.” Felice hadn’t had time to fill her in on the history of the galas an
d Zander being so on top of everything was very intimidating.
No matter how big an event this was going to be, Marie knew she could get the job done once she had a grasp on it. It was crucial that she show Felice and the other agency bigwigs that she was capable of this position. It was time for her to take a next step up in her career, and this was an unexpected opportunity for her to show what she could do.
Proving naysayers wrong was something she’d spent a lot of her life doing. Frustration crinkled her face when she wondered if she’d ever be finished selling herself to others. Who usually doubted her from the start.
“All right.” Zander made some sort of internal decision and proclamation. He transmitted full authority in every word he said, every gesture he made. Whoever he was other than chairperson for this gala, he was a force to be reckoned with. That’s the kind of person Marie wanted to be. Maybe she could learn something from him. “We need to get you up to speed, and immediately.”
“Yes.”
Zander tapped a number into his phone. “Iris, are you able to manage until this evening?”
Whoever Iris was and whatever she was telling him made him grin. And my, a smiling Zander de Nellay was a sight to behold. No wonder his chairing this gala was such a big deal. That smile could coax a wallet right out of its pocket.
Finishing the call, he returned his attention to Marie. “I’m starved. Let’s go get some food. We’ll work through the files and see where we are on every component,” he commanded as if his will was always obeyed. One thing was for sure. Zander was the most compelling man Marie had ever met.
CHAPTER TWO
HALF OF ZANDER’S mind was on Marie Paquet, the young woman beside him as they left the APCF office and walked toward the center of town. The rest of his brain was on Abella, the not yet two-foot-tall girl who was the most important person in the world to him. When he’d called home, Iris let him know that everything was under control at the penthouse so that he didn’t have to worry about rushing back.
The Prince's Cinderella Page 2
