The Cinderella Rules

by Donna Kauffman

  She looked like female incarnate. And it had nothing to do with artificial enhancement. The woman staring back at her was one-hundred-percent real.

  And that woman hungered for more. More time with Shane. More time simply being herself. If only she could live in a time out of time. With no obligations to her land, her horses . . . or to her sister and father.

  And here she’d thought that doing Pepper’s job was going to be the hard part of this little favor.

  She should walk out there and tell Shane she couldn’t keep playing around like this. She wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing. It was hard enough dealing with Stefan, much less the fact that her father was due back in her life in less than forty-eight hours.

  And yet, the very idea of not having Shane’s smiling, joking, sexy self around . . . well, it simply didn’t bear thinking about. Surely she’d be more rational once she’d had a chance to come down off the postcoital high.

  Or not. Two days. That was all she could have. After that she went home, and Shane was nothing more than a memory. A really hot memory. So . . . just how much trouble could she get into, anyway?

  She shook her head with a rueful smile as she pushed away from the door. “You are so screwed.” But when she stepped into the shower, soaped her body, washed her hair, it was with a renewed sense of self. A new sense of empowerment. One she wouldn’t be quick to discard, no matter what the next two days held.

  Cinderella Rule #13

  You’ll always have enemies, no matter how you comport yourself. Success does breed contempt, after all. No sense in needlessly adding more names to that list. Therefore, treat everyone with respect, regardless of social station. It’s not always the big fish who causes the most trouble. Or provides the most help. Allies—and enemies—come in all sizes, pedigrees, and estimated annual worths.

  —MERCEDES

  Chapter 13

  The caterer has run out of Chambolle-Musigny blanc?” Shane repeated, tightening the belt of his bathrobe. “My God, man, why didn’t you come tell me sooner?”

  The man immediately looked contrite and more than a little anxious. “I tried, sir. I’ve knocked several times.”

  Shane lifted his hands. “I was kidding.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  Shane sighed. Was there no one who had worked for his late grandmother who had a sense of humor? “Let me ask you something.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Was employment in your field so hard to come by when you accepted the position here that you had nowhere else to go?”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  Shane clamped down on the urge to drop to his knees and beg the man to stop begging his pardon. And for Christ’s sake, to stop calling him sir. But doing so would only confound him further. “Your job here, are you well compensated?”

  The man looked truly worried now. “I’ve no complaints, sir. I promise, I’ll try harder next time, I—”

  “Jesus,” Shane swore under his breath. “Just stop.” He raked his hair off his forehead. “So, people are actually upset about the wine, huh? How many other kinds are we serving?”

  “Seven, sir. But this one was selected especially to go with the foie gras canapés, sir.”

  “Ah.” Shane scratched his chin. “Well, these people need to get a life, then. But that goes without saying.” Despite just having had the very best sex of his entire life, he felt his week-long vise-grip headache return with a vengeance. “You can tell the caterer they can serve Kool-Aid, for all I care.”

  “Kool . . . Aid?” The young man looked truly perplexed.

  “You’ve never heard of—?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. Just tell them to serve whatever else we have on hand that goes with the menu.”

  “From our own cellars?”

  “Where else? Of course from our own cellars.”

  “Those are from Ms. Morgan’s private collection, sir. The wine served today was specially ordered months ago for this event. We simply had no idea there would be such a run on the Musigny. We need your approval to call the supplier and order—”

  “But we do have wine in the cellar? Perfectly good wine, right?”

  “Yes, sir, the best, but—”

  “Then please inform whoever is in charge of wine selection—”

  “That would be Hayes, sir, the wine steward.”

  “Right. Tell Hayes he has my full permission to take from the cellar whatever he deems suitable. And as many as he deems necessary.”

  The young man’s eyes widened. “Are you certain, sir? Ms. Morgan has always expressly forbidden—”

  “Ms. Morgan is no longer with us. And I don’t really see the need to keep a bunch of bottles moldering in some dark basement when they can see the light and be enjoyed. That is the purpose of having wine, is it not?”

  The man’s mouth dropped open, as if Shane had spoken some kind of sacrilege. But there was a light in his eyes now, and if Shane wasn’t mistaken, it was a flicker of respect. Or maybe he was just looking forward to being the one to tell the wine steward, “Ding! Dong! The witch is dead,” and it was party time. Whatever the case, the young man smiled for the first time. “Yes, sir.”

  “Is that it?” Shane asked, hearing the shower go on in the other room. He could go conserve water with Darby, to make up for the priceless wine he was about to squander.

  “No wine is off-limits?” the young man clarified.

  Shane cocked his head. “What would you say is the most expensive bottle down there?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t know, sir. But I do know Ms. Morgan took immense pride in her collection. Some of them are considered quite rare.”

  “Great. Start with those.”

  His mouth dropped open, then snapped shut when Shane smiled and asked, “Was there anything else you needed to discuss with me?”

  “N-no, sir.” He stood there a moment longer, then seemed to realize that he could simply leave, that there were no further orders. “I’ll get right on it, sir,” he said, a wide grin on his face, then took off.

  Just what had Alexandra done to these poor people to make them so jittery, anyway? He was backing up and closing the door, already visualizing steamy fun with Darby, when another staffer popped around the corner.

  He waved his hand before Shane could duck away. “Sir, I say, sir!”

  Shane groaned and let his forehead drop against the frame. He thought about banging it again. Repeatedly. The older man skidded to a halt in front of the door before Shane could shut it in his face.

  “Thank goodness I located you, sir. We’re having some difficulties with the setup for the musicians.”

  His British accent and gawky body movements reminded Shane of C3PO. He tried to look suitably concerned. “Musicians?”

  “They’re to set up by the fountains in the rear of the first terrace, but now they’re claiming they were told they’d be set up indoors, when that certainly would never be the case.”

  Shane just stared at the man.

  He cleared his throat, straightened his tie, then shifted his weight. “What do you wish us to do? We could release them from their contract, but then there would be no string quartet at sunset.”

  Shane clasped his hand to his chest. “Horrors.”

  The man nodded instantly, then paused as he realized that perhaps Shane wasn’t being entirely sincere.

  He liked the short guy better. At least there was still hope with that one. “I don’t suppose we can just set up speakers, grab a few CDs and see if someone wants to play DJ?”

  The staffer looked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language.

  “Honestly—what is your name?”

  The guy’s Adam’s apple bobbled as he swallowed. “Trasker, sir.”

  Shane smiled. “Trasker, nice to meet you. Listen, between you and me, I don’t really care where they set up. If it’s in writing, show it to them and tell them to set up where they agreed to or they can take off. If it’s not in writi
ng, then let them set up wherever the hell they want.”

  The man nodded anxiously. “Yes, sir, but—”

  “No buts, Trasker.” He leaned out the door to make sure no one else was going to harass him, then looked back at C3PO. “And if you can find a boom box and set it up by the lower terrace pool, there’s a raise in it for you. Quartet at sunset and Led Zeppelin under the stars.” He grinned. “Sounds like a smashing good time, eh, wot?”

  “Uh, yes. Yes, sir, indeed it does.” He took a small step back, looking as if he might be concerned for Shane’s mental health.

  With Shane’s luck, a full medical team would be sent up shortly, ruining any chance he had to convince Darby to play party hooky a little longer. “Well, then, get on with it, man.”

  The man nodded and sketched a slight bow before retreating.

  Shane was surprised that Alexandra didn’t require them to click their polished heels together. Probably because she hadn’t thought of it yet. He shook his head as he closed the door.

  “What’s this?”

  Shane looked up to find Darby standing in his sitting room doorway, looking damp and delectable in a thick white towel, with a sheaf of papers in her hand and a frown creasing her freshly scrubbed face.

  “I haven’t a clue,” he said as he crossed the room. “But may I say, you look every bit as devastating in terry cloth as you do in silk.”

  “My clothes are beyond help, not that it matters, since my hair and face are just as hopeless.”

  And here he was, thinking that for the first time since their initial limo ride, she looked like herself. “Depends on who you’re asking, I guess.”

  She slapped the papers on his chest when he went to pull her into his arms. He lifted his arms out and stepped back. “If it helps, I did call down and ask for your bags to be delivered here. First,” he added quickly. “I wasn’t presuming anything except that you’d want a change of clothes.”

  “Thanks. But that’s not my biggest concern right now.” She waved the papers in his face.

  He looked nonplussed. “I told you, I don’t know. Where did you find them?”

  “I was trying to shake the wrinkles out of my clothes. When I realized only a steamroller was going to help me with that, I came to find you, only I ended up in your sitting room by mistake. I was rubbing my hair dry and didn’t see the papers on the floor and slid on them—”

  “You fell? Are you okay?”

  She looked surprised for a moment, then amused. “I routinely get thrown from horseback and you’re worried that a slip might hurt me?”

  He tugged her into his arms, paper fists and all. “I keep forgetting you’re all rough and tough,” he said, nipping at her chin. “I guess I forgot, because of all those soft and tender parts I got to see.”

  She didn’t try to squirm free. “And I know where all your soft and tender parts are, as well,” she said pointedly.

  Shane raised his hands and stepped back. “Okay, I give up. What’s up with the papers?” Then he realized what they were. When he’d heard that first knock at the door, he’d hit print, thinking he could tuck the reports away to be read later. Darby had literally tripped over his report on Stefan. “Oh. Those papers.”

  Darby’s smile faltered. “So, you do know what they refer to? Or should I say who? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You told me he made you feel uncomfortable, and frankly, I wasn’t getting a good vibe from the guy, either.”

  “That was just from the testosterone poisoning.”

  “Ha, ha.” At her look, he lifted a shoulder. “Okay, maybe just a little. And I know you don’t want me or anyone else to worry about you, but I figured you should know more about who you’re dealing with. What could it hurt, right? He’ll never know.”

  “Was I ever going to know?”

  His look of surprise was sincere. “Of course.”

  “Even if nothing popped on the reports?”

  “Is that what they say? He’s just a regular old Swedish businessman who only happens to look like a comic-book hero?”

  “You didn’t read them?”

  He grinned then. “I was interrupted. Something more important came up.”

  Her lips twitched, then she gave up entirely and shook her head as she smiled. “You know, you’re really just—”

  He snagged her wrist, yanked her to his chest. “Amazing? Remarkable? Unforgettable?”

  “I refuse to answer, on the grounds that your head may swell up larger than it already is.”

  He bumped hips with her and tugged at the belt of his robe. “Define more clearly, please, which head is in jeopardy.”

  She rolled her eyes, then sighed and let her head drop back as his hands snaked inside the towel and skated across her still-damp skin. “I had no business doing this the first time. I definitely can’t do it again.”

  “You seriously underestimate yourself,” he murmured, already nuzzling the side of her neck. “In fact, I would gladly make it my mission in life to prove otherwise.”

  She started to relax into him further, then snapped back to attention and shoved him away. “No, no, I can’t. We’ve both been gone way too long as it is.” She pushed at her hair and tucked in her towel.

  He folded his arms, knowing he shouldn’t enjoy seeing her flustered, but she so rarely was, he couldn’t help himself. “But we’re agreed that if it weren’t for a hundred strangers outside, you’d be all over me.”

  She surprised him with a beautifully wicked grin. “Like white on rice.”

  He clapped his hands once, decisively. “That does it, party’s over.” He strode to the desk. “I’ll just call down and have everyone pack up and leave.”

  “Very funny. And trust me, nothing would make me happier, but we both know—”

  He turned then, and said, “You want to know what I know?” He’d intended to tease, but somehow the words had come out quite sincerely.

  “Huh?”

  He started to tell her what he’d really been about to say. That he knew she was different, that he’d known it before they’d had stupendous, life-altering sex. He’d known it in the limo. Known it before he’d touched her, tasted her. And what he didn’t know, he wanted to find out. And he suspected that making her happy would be a satisfying endeavor. Which was a new one on him, since usually he only worried about his own happiness. Life was less complicated that way.

  But life had managed to get complicated on him, despite his best efforts, and there was nothing he could do about it. So why not complicate it a little more?

  Because now was not the time to put into words everything she made him feel. For them, that time was never going to come. Besides, she’d think it was about the sex; that he spouted lovesick nonsense to every woman he got into bed. When the truth was, he’d never been inspired to spout anything of the sort. Until right now.

  “I know that I wish there were no party, no inheritance, no smooth Scandinavian mogul,” he said, giving her—and himself—the part of the truth they could both handle. “I know that I’d have rather we met in an airport on our way to anywhere else but what we’re dealing with here.”

  She smiled at that. “Like I’d willingly fly anywhere else.”

  “Darby—” Obviously she saw something in his expression he hadn’t meant for her to see. Or maybe he had.

  Her smile faded, and she crossed her arms at her waist. “You do realize that when the party is over, this is, too, right?”

  He stepped closer. “Define this.”

  “Do I really have to?”

  “Actually, I wish you didn’t. I wish neither of us had to. I’m not good with boundaries.”

  “Because it’s easier to just go with the flow, right?” she said. “Follow the path wherever it takes us.”

  “Exactly. Darby, listen, I—”

  She raised her hand. “Which is exactly why this—whatever it is we’re having—won’t . . . can’t—go beyond the here and now.” She tried to force a smile. “Black sheep
we may be, but you’re a wanderer by nature. I’m a settler.”

  “But—”

  “I know you’re in the middle of a really difficult time, with a lot of decisions to make. But can you honestly tell me that once this mess is sorted out, you plan on changing your life long-term? As soon as that last decision has been made, can you honestly tell me you won’t be on the first plane, train, or automobile out of here and back to . . . wherever it is you feel like going to next?”

  He’d heard a variation on this theme from Hal. He hadn’t liked it then, but this was somehow worse. Maybe because she wasn’t accusing him of anything, or judging him. Not really. She was stating the facts as she saw them, as she knew them to be. As he’d always known them to be. But it was easier to be irritated with her than to face the reality that somewhere between seeing Hal’s pain and hearing his disappointment, discovering there might be intrigue going on at Morgan Industries . . . and losing himself between Darby’s strong, tanned thighs . . . those facts had started to morph, change, and drift. To what, however, he had no idea. And he didn’t appreciate being made to defend himself again while he was still trying to figure it all out. “So, you fall on the side of those who want me to apologize for leading a life that makes me happy?”

  “No, I’m not that person. In fact, I’m the last person who’ll ever criticize anyone for escaping and finding their own personal happiness.”

  “You? Why?”

  “Remember what I told you the day we met, about my sister? Well, the reason I feel responsible for her, the reason I end up doing stuff I have no business doing, is because of that sense of responsibility. I wasn’t there for her when she needed someone. I wasn’t there because I basically ran away from home. I was young when my mother died, but Pepper was barely more than a toddler. My father was—is—a tough man to deal with.” She broke off, bit her lip, then squared her shoulders and continued. “Things went downhill rapidly between me and my father, so when my grandfather made me the offer to come live with him, I jumped at the chance. Even though I knew it meant leaving Pepper behind to fend for herself in a household full of hired help. So I could run off and—”