Again he traced a finger down her spine, only this time it was as reassuring as it was tantalizing.
“Thank you,” she said, quite seriously, but careful to keep her gaze on the house and grounds.
“For?”
She turned. “The distraction. The camaraderie.” Her lips twitched. “For reminding me that I need to be kissed like that more often.”
“Ah, so you’ve been kissed like that before, then.” His blue eyes lit with devilment. “I must be losing my edge in my old age. You hit thirty and it all goes to hell, I guess.”
“With age comes experience. Which does improve some things.”
He glanced over at Mercedes and company, then stepped in close. Real close. “It’s certainly improved my appreciation for some things.” He leaned in and took her mouth in a searing power punch of a kiss. She was actually dizzy when he ended it. Jet lag, she tried to tell herself. But she wasn’t buying it. Neither, from the look on his face, was he.
“It’s only fair, you know,” he said, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. “Because you, Darby Landon of the East Coast Landons, have my full attention, too.” He glanced past her at the house, maybe at something only he could see. “And in a far better way than it’s about to be had, that’s for sure.”
He’d made it clear he had no more love for the power players of the Washington elite than she did. Apparently his grandmother had been an integral part of that high-stakes circle. Judging from the reactions of the three older women, it had been a long time since he’d been around. Which meant he probably faced a bit more than putting a house up for sale and sorting through a few personal belongings. She discovered she was dying to know more. Which proved the real shame. Because the women were heading back their way. And their time together was officially up. “I’d offer to swap places with you,” she said, “but I’m not sure I don’t have the better end of the deal. If there is such a thing.”
His smile was tinged with resignation. “We’re both going to be sucked into a world of ridiculous rules, obligations we didn’t ask for, and expectations we never set out to fulfill in the first place. And worse.”
She made a face. “What could possibly be worse?”
He laughed. “I like you, Darby Landon. I owe you thanks, too.”
“What for?”
“Distraction, camaraderie. And proving to me that kisses like that actually exist.”
Her mouth opened, then shut again, surprised into silence.
“Just follow their rules, Cinderella,” he told her, tracing a quick caress along her lower lip. “They’re good at what they do. You’ll be a Washington Power Princess in no time.”
“That is not a reassuring thought,” she called out as he walked away, out of her life, and got one last wink for the effort. Then he ducked around the side of the house, with Vivian and Mercedes in tow.
And yet it was reassuring. Or he was, anyway. She’d never thought of herself as the deliverer of a once-in-a-lifetime kiss. And though there was a good chance he said outrageous things like that to every woman he met, she chose to believe that he meant it with her.
Believing gave her the strength to turn and face the phalanx of Glass Slipper employees with a bit of dignity, a shred of confidence . . . and maybe just a fraction of her mother’s ranch-hand-born élan.
“Good-bye ugly stepsister,” she murmured. And thank you, Shane Morgan, for making me feel, even for a few moments, that there is a little bit of Cinderella inside every woman. Even me.
“Darling,” Aurora said, taking Darby’s hands in hers once again. “I’d like to introduce you to Beverly. She’ll be your personal planner during your stay here.” She leaned in and whispered, “Trust me, she’s one of the best. If anyone can whip you into shape in such a limited time, it’s her. She’s fabulous.”
Darby didn’t quite know what to say to that, but Aurora was already motioning Beverly forward. She gave Darby a reassuring little wave, then turned away to speak to several other employees.
The young woman in a cheery lemon blazer stepped forward and extended her mannequin-smooth, perfectly manicured hand. “I’m Beverly. It’ll be a pleasure working with you.” She let her gaze skim over Darby’s face and hair, her smile very carefully maintained. “Perhaps we should set up your salon appointments first?”
Her Cinderella confidence deteriorating rapidly, Darby started getting that petri dish feeling in the pit of her stomach again. For a split second she contemplated diving back into the limo, but, as if on cue, it pulled slowly down the drive. Stranding her with the Stepford Staffers.
Darby forced a smile at Beverly and the small gathering behind her. “Whatever you think is best.”
Beverly exchanged a brief but telling look with her assembled assistants, who immediately leaped to attention, scribbling on clipboards, making calls on their little headsets, before scurrying off toward the house in what could only be described as a beehive of activity.
Beverly beamed at Darby and gently took her arm, steering her down the pebbled path toward the wide steps leading to the veranda. She patted Darby’s arm reassuringly. “Since you only have a few days here, we’re going to put you into our high focus, intensive program.”
Oh, goody, Darby muttered silently. She was already being tagged a makeover emergency.
“We’ll spend the rest of today and a good part of tomorrow working on the easier elements of your transformation. Namely appearance.” Her smile never flickered. “Then we’ll move into the more intangible elements: grace, style, et cetera. All of which will be interspersed with etiquette lessons and the like. Each meal will double as a chance to further your education on everything from place settings to dinner-party strategies.” She gestured for Darby to precede her through the stained-glass doors.
“Alice through the looking glass,” Darby murmured. Though it was fair to say that she felt more like Lurch next to Beverly’s cute, blonde Alice.
“I beg your pardon?” Beverly asked brightly.
“Beautiful stained glass,” she improvised, figuring it wasn’t politic to alienate the person in charge of arranging her torture sessions.
“Yes, it’s an original part of the house, dating back to the eighteen hundreds. If we have time, I’d be more than glad to give you the full tour.”
“Lovely,” Darby managed, then forced a smile when Beverly looked up at her quizzically. Most of their guests probably approached their makeover with a tad more enthusiasm, as opposed to Darby, who acted like a person facing an appointment with the guillotine. “Perhaps later. I’d really like to freshen up, if that’s possible.”
Beverly beamed once again as she enthusiastically tucked her arm through Darby’s, patting her forearm. “Oh, we’re going to do far more than freshen you up. Trust me, by the time we have our first session on dinner-party etiquette this evening, you already won’t recognize yourself.”
Darby’s stomach pitched and rolled as Beverly opened a door to a small, beautifully appointed office. “I really don’t think—”
“We’re going to have fun,” Beverly assured her, patting her hand.
Darby pulled her arm free and curled her fingers inward before she gave in to the temptation to pat-pat little Beverly here right through the nearest window.
Oblivious to her client’s rebellious thoughts, she motioned for Darby to sit in a tightly upholstered Victorian chair. “It’ll be like playing dress-up, only better.”
Darby’s lips quirked, thinking of Shane’s comments to her in the car. This whole day was taking on a totally surreal vibe. Only she liked the one back in the limo much better. She sighed.
“Is something the matter?”
Darby regretfully let thoughts of Shane fade away as she took a deep, fortifying breath. She looked at her Perpetually Perky, Depressingly Diminutive personal planner and felt every inch her Incredible Hulklike self. Whatever Cinderella vibe she had left, vanished. In fact, she couldn’t believe she’d really thought she could pull this off. J
ust who were they kidding? Even Bubbly Bev here was worried.
Darby’s lips quirked again in a wry smile. “Just that it’s not easy being green.” At least she’d made Bev frown. Score one for the Hulk. “You wouldn’t understand.” She sighed a little and resigned herself to her immediate fate. Seriously, just how bad could it be to have her hair done and some makeup caked on, right? “So, where do we begin?”
Beverly flipped open a leather notebook, pen poised over what looked like a lengthy checklist. “We’ve already set up hair and facial appointments.” She flashed a confident smile, then said, “When was the last time you waxed?”
Darby’s newly formed bravado slipped badly. “My brows are fine.”
She could have sworn Beverly’s smile took on a demonic glow. “I don’t mean your brows. We’ll take care of that with electrolysis.” She sent a meaningful look lower.
Darby carefully crossed her legs, barely refraining from putting a protective hand over her crotch. “Shaving is fine, really.”
“Trust me,” Beverly assured her. “You’re going to thank me when this is all over.”
The only thing Darby trusted at the moment was that for every moment of “fun” she had at Glass Slipper, Pepper was going to have an equally fun moment on the ranch. In fact, she was going to spend every waking moment of this nightmare devising her own little checklist for her baby sister.
Starting off with bicep-high rubber gloves as her first foaling fashion statement.
With a grin that actually made Beverly shift back a little in her seat, Darby said, “Oh, I’m sure the payoff will be worth the effort.”
Cinderella Rule #4
Never underestimate the power of fashion as a business tool. Unfair as it may seem, a well-tailored skirt matched with the right pair of heels often influences people more than the corporate presentation you spent weeks slaving over. Embrace that reality . . . and accessorize ruthlessly.
—VIVIAN
Chapter 4
If you’ll excuse me for just a moment.”
The three men sitting across from his desk nodded, and Shane stood and ducked through one of the three doors leading from Alexandra’s office. The first one led to the hall, the second one led to a smaller, private office. He took the third, which led to her private bathroom.
He felt like his head was going to explode, and it probably would if he had to listen to one more person say things like “expedite revenue velocity” or “solidify the manpower infrastructure.” Didn’t anyone just say what they meant anymore? He needed a minute, or fifty. He stuck a finger in the neckband of his shirt, trying and failing to loosen the noose around his neck. And along with common English usage, the aggregate corporate mentality had also lost its sense of humor. If they’d ever had one.
He huffed out a sigh, popped a few aspirin, then smoothed his retro Rocky-and-Bullwinkle tie before turning to leave. The tinny echo of voices floated through the vent screen, making him pause.
“Can you believe this shit? What the hell was she thinking, letting everything rest on this guy’s shoulders?”
“They’re actually kind of nice shoulders—”
“Down, boy,” came another voice. “And wake up, Frank. Who did you think she’d leave it to? She all but printed it at the top of the corporate manifesto. Morgan Industries was, is, and always will be a privately held Morgan family business.”
“ ‘Ding Dong! The Witch is dead,’ but a Morgan still sits on the throne.”
Shane wondered if Alexandra had ventilated the room specifically to pick up the acoustics of her outer office, and then figured she’d be just the type to think of something like that. He wondered how many times she’d stood in this exact spot and listened to people screw themselves right out of a job or deal. And since that visual made him feel more than a little creepy, he stepped back into the office. “Thank you, gentlemen.” He walked to the door leading to reception, finding some joy in the way they all but fell over themselves to look sharp, in control, but with that all-important willing-to-kiss-ass-if-it-will-get-me-a-new-Lexus air about them.
He opened the door. “If you’ll leave a copy of your proposal with my assistant, I’ll give it due attention before making my final decision.”
Even as they hustled out with their “Yes, sir; thank you, sir,” Cuthbert was motioning another pair to enter. Jesus, Shane thought, head still pounding. Did it never end?
The two took their seats, and for the next thirty minutes he did his best to smile and nod in all the right places. But, honestly, he was with Frank. Or maybe it was Steve. What the fuck was he doing here?
“If you’re considering going through with the Celentrex buyout, Mr. Morgan,” the woman was saying as she mercifully wrapped up her presentation, “I think you can clearly see that my team would be in the best position to ensure a smooth transition.” She smiled, but Shane wasn’t fooled. He was pretty sure that if you scraped the surface of her ruthlessly tailored power suit, shark skin would gleam through.
“I was involved with your grandmother during the initial development phase, and I don’t believe anyone is more qualified.”
Shane said nothing, just continued to tap his steepled fingers against his chin. After a few moments, the woman shifted slightly on her sensible pumps and took a seat. Shane shifted his attention to the man who’d come in with her—one of the research guys, if he recalled correctly. He’d tried, he really had, to commit names to memory, but had given up some two dozen department heads ago. “Did you have anything to add?”
The man dabbed at his shiny forehead with a handkerchief. “No, sir. I concur with everything presented here. The technology is in place, and we have developed a strong relationship with the Celentrex team, which would guarantee a successful launch.”
He concurred. Shane resisted the urge to sigh. Just barely. He slapped his hands on the desk, startling them both, and stood. “Well, then, I guess that’s all. I’ll get back in touch with you after I’ve seen the other presentations.”
The woman was sharp, but even so, she took a moment to regroup. Clearly she hadn’t expected to be dismissed so quickly. “Sir, if I may add something?”
Shane remained standing and met her gaze directly. “Certainly. But please keep it brief. I have another appointment waiting.”
He saw the flicker of surprise, the reassessing look. Did they all really think he was a total idiot? Just because his master’s degree had been earned in the college of global experience, didn’t mean his mind wasn’t sharp. They’d soon learn that, despite the fact that he could give a flying flip about the Celentrex buyout or any of the other business that Morgan Industries conducted on any given day, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to at least attempt to make the most informed decisions possible.
God, three days and he was already being sucked into the whole corporate mentality. Thanks, Alexandra. He hated thinking she might have been right about him. Not that he had any intentions of staying, much less running the joint, or even pretending to try, but if she’d assumed he’d be unable to look at the faces of the various employees whose livelihoods might be on the line, and not at least try to do right by them . . . well, she might have been a little right about him.
“Go ahead,” he said, trying not to let the overwhelming nature of this whole ordeal send him back to the rest room. This time to vomit. How did these people live with this kind of stress every day? He’d been in meetings into the early morning hours both of the past two nights. In fact, he’d been told that was status quo. Who the hell worked that hard? And for what? The brass ring? Just what did one do with a brass ring, anyway? Show it off? Must get awfully tiring, having to find a new ring after everyone has seen your old one.
“I’m not sure where you are in the evaluation process,” she began, smoothing the skirt of her power suit. Her smile was direct, her fin erect and slicing the turbulent waters of corporate power struggles once again. In any other situation, he might have admired her confidence. At the moment, however,
she just struck him as another ring-grabber. “Forgive me if I’m reiterating something you are already aware of, but with the untimely passing of your grandmother, the Celentrex buyout immediately became a hotly debated property. We can’t afford to drop the ball here. I assure you, we’re ready to hit the ground running.”
Shane was well aware of the concerns surrounding the buyout. How could he not? It was all anyone wanted to talk about. On the surface, it looked like a good thing. Celentrex was a small British engineering company that had developed a new technology to extract fossil fuels. An environmental boon and possible future solution to America’s overseas oil dependence. Never a tree hugger or political activist, Shane assumed Alexandra’s interest was more closely related to the boon it would bring to her bottom line in the corporate asset column.
Shane looked from the woman to the R&D guy, then back again. And smiled. “So, what you’re saying is, the world will still get the benefit of the technology, no matter what. We just risk losing out on the money if we don’t jump now.”
“It’s a great deal of money,” the researcher blurted out. “The rumor mill is already grinding that—that you might not go through with it. Our window of opportunity is shrinking.”
The woman smiled and rose to her feet, shifting smoothly in front of the older man who was dabbing at his forehead again. “Your grandmother was very determined to see this through. It meant a great deal to her.”
Shane’s smile grew. If she thought that playing the sentimental card was going to further her case, she was sadly mistaken. “Trust me, anything that would make her a boatload more cash, to add to the already obscene amount she was worth to begin with, was going to be vitally important to Alexandra. Me, on the other hand—” He shrugged. “I don’t care all that much about money.”
The Cinderella Rules Page 5
