The Cinderella Rules

by Donna Kauffman

  “I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t imagine how I’d react if I were in your position. If you think this is the way to go—” She shrugged, but gave him an encouraging smile.

  “What I think is that these people have way too much time and money on their hands if they’re going to worry about what kind of wine is being served with the fish sticks, and whether the band plays outdoors, or up in a tree house. What I think—what I know—is that they all want a piece of me. Or, more specifically, a piece of the Morgan empire. And what I want them to know is that the game as they play it is over. If I have a prayer in hell of finding solutions to any of this, from making multimillion dollar corporate decisions to preserving my ancestral history, then I need an edge. And I finally figured out that my advantage, my edge, is that one basic difference between them and me.”

  “Loud surf shorts?”

  He grinned. “Well, that, and the fact that I’m the only one who doesn’t care what’s in it for me. So, why not leverage my advantage? Make them dance to my tune instead of the other way around. Speaking of which, I put a call in for a disc jockey. He should be arriving shortly.”

  “Let me guess. He won’t be playing Mozart’s top ten.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Well, then.” Her lips curved in a slow smile. This could actually prove quite entertaining. “Let the fireworks begin.”

  He bowed slightly. “Thank you for the vote of support. Can I count on you in the limbo contest I’m planning later? We need someone to teach these people how to cut loose.”

  She laughed now. “Oh, you’ve got the wrong girl for that. But I’m thinking there are a few fairy godmothers out there who might be game.”

  His eyes lit up. “You’re brilliant.”

  Now she sketched a bow. “I have my moments.” She nodded toward his outfit. “And I must say, those are definitely you.”

  He modeled briefly. “They’re my lucky pair.”

  She gave him a look. “I don’t even want to know what constitutes luck when it comes to Hawaiian flowery shorts.”

  “I could show you later.”

  “I’ll bet you could.”

  “I’ll take that bet. So, we have a deal, then?”

  “As long as that deal involves me fading into the woodwork as the show out there unfolds, yes.”

  “Look at it this way. At least you won’t have to worry about being the center of attention now.”

  She hadn’t thought about that. Her smile was wide and quite sincere. “You know, for that, I just might be able to find a way to immortalize those lucky shorts of yours.”

  Shane’s eyes darkened. “New rule. Party’s over at sundown.” He snagged her arm, dragged her behind a life-sized model of a racehorse, complete with a blanket of flowers, and kissed the lipstick right back off of her. He left her there, wavering on her feet, touching her lips, wondering how he did that every single time, as she watched him saunter outside. His grin came easily as heads turned with every step he took.

  “You’re something else, Shane Morgan,” she murmured. And followed him out, bare-mouthed, probably flushed, and totally unconcerned. Like anyone was going to notice at this point. It wasn’t exactly like wearing surfer shorts, or boots and jeans for that matter. But it was a show of support. “Black Sheep Unite,” she said, snagging a glass of something sparkly from a passing waiter and raising it in tribute.

  “There you are. We’d barely arrived and you vanished. I was becoming quite concerned about your well-being.”

  Darby almost gagged, but managed to force the chilled wine past the sudden tightness in her throat. Damn, she wasn’t ready for this. But then, when would she ever be? She took a moment, then carefully engaged her well-rehearsed vapid-society-girl expression and turned to face Stefan. “I’m so sorry to have abandoned you like that. It was entirely unintentional.” Which was the truth. She’d wanted to see Shane, to talk to him away from the crowd before he and Stefan did their little testosterone tango encore. But she’d only intended to be gone a few minutes.

  “Nothing is wrong, I hope?” He skimmed his gaze over her before flicking those dark eyes back to hers. “You’ve changed.”

  She froze for a second, wondering if there were any obvious outward signs—beyond having her lipstick kissed off—of just why she’d changed. Somehow she knew, if there was even a trace of afterglow about her, Stefan would zero in on it. Which made her work doubly hard at accurately mimicking that disaffected society mien. “I’m afraid the outfit I selected this morning didn’t travel well. I knew I’d feel better in something fresh. Then the staff couldn’t locate where they’d put my bags—” She did the one-shoulder shrug. “You know how it is.”

  Stefan smiled, seeming to agree with her, but something about his expression still seemed too aware. Or a little too intent. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it didn’t feel sexual this time. Just very . . . focused. Which was far more chilling in its own, emotionally detached kind of way.

  She sipped her wine as she turned her attention to the extravagantly decorated grounds and the extravagantly decorated people tromping around on them. He came to stand next to her and she had to work at not shifting away from him.

  “Quite the elaborate show,” he murmured, nodding to the catering staff who were all decked out in racing silks. Not to mention the life-sized, flower-draped racing horses that dotted the grounds.

  “Mmm,” she responded, noncommittally sipping her wine, buying time to get her game plan in gear. Which she’d better do quickly. Using the bubbly as a means of avoiding direct conversation was effective, but continued application would leave her sloshed by sunset. And no good to the plan, or anything else for that matter. Her thoughts strayed to later tonight, after everyone stumbled off to bed. She and Shane hadn’t made specific plans, but she didn’t imagine she’d be spending the night alone. Not all of it, anyway. Would Shane come to her? Or would she go to him?

  “My word, as I live and breathe. Little Darmilla Landon, all grown up. Turn around, darling, and let me get a look at you.”

  Darby stiffened at the sound of the society matron’s grating voice. The gauntlet had officially begun. Amazingly, she was almost grateful for the interruption. Almost. She turned, society smile carefully in place. “Hello—?”

  The woman’s shrewd eyes flickered in disapproval. “Bitsy Henessy.”

  “Of course,” Darby said, not remotely chastened.

  “Well, you certainly have turned out rather nicely. The resemblance to your mother is amazing.” Bitsy held her at arm’s length. “And what a charming outfit you have on.” Her polite society smile set firmly in place, she added, “Is this something you picked up back West?”

  It almost killed her, but somehow Darby refrained from poking Bitsy’s eyes out. “Let me introduce you to my guest. This is Stefan Bjornsen, an associate of my father’s.”

  Stefan’s smile was a shade too tight and Darby guessed he wasn’t any happier with the intrusion than she’d been. “A pleasure,” he said.

  The older woman preened when Stefan bowed his lion’s mane over her extended, heavily ringed hands. She rewarded him with a smile that stretched her unnaturally smooth complexion to its surgical limits. “How gallant. You’ve come for business, then?” She looked to Darby. “Is your father here, dear? I’ve been meaning to discuss a little proposal—”

  “He’ll be arriving Sunday,” Darby answered.

  The woman cast her gaze from Darby to Stefan. “How nice of you to fill in for him during his absence.”

  “The pleasure has been assuredly all mine,” Stefan provided.

  Bitsy beamed at him. “Well, well. I’ll want to hear later about how you managed to lure her back to the family fold.” She laughed, a shrill sound that had Darby fighting the urge to cover her glass, in case it shattered. “And don’t think I won’t hold you to it. Quite a coup, but then, I’m sure you’re well aware of that. Oh, there’s Pierpont. I do need to have a talk with him.” She turned to Darby, t
ook her hand without permission, and squeezed it. “Wonderful to see you back, my dear. I’m having a luncheon at the club next Tuesday. We’re setting up our calendar for the fall charity events. Surely you’ll make time to attend? And of course I’ll make certain Margo sends you an invite to the embassy party she’s organizing for the French ambassador.” She leaned closer. “You’ve probably already heard the rumor that he’s keeping a woman who isn’t his wife in a little place in Adams Morgan. Tongues are wagging that she’ll be at the ball.” Her rings bit into Darby’s hand. “You’ll be thanking me for that invite, I assure you.”

  Darby was only sure that her fingers had lost all feeling. She was saved from making a response when Bitsy dropped her hand and turned one last stitch-popping smile on Stefan. “Until later.”

  He watched her retreat, then turned his gaze back to Darby. If anything, his focus was more intent. Oh, goody. “Your presence in town seems to have caused quite a sensation. Just how long has it been?”

  She was supposed to be the one interrogating him. “Quite a while.” She deliberately moved into the milling crowds, forcing him to follow. She needed a moment—okay, a few moments—to regroup and plot a strategy. She slowed beside the box hedges rimming part of the lawn, very aware of the stares aimed in her direction. She could only imagine the whispering conjectures being made. And Darby had no doubt that Bitsy was out there right now, stirring the speculation pot. Not that she gave a rat’s ass what they thought, but her role was to fit in and keep him entertained. Not to make him feel uncomfortable, or the target of speculation.

  Which meant keeping them out of the heavy traffic, and keeping the conversation focused on him. “So, your business with my father sounds intriguing.” She took a sip of wine, careful to keep her expression smooth, her gaze on the crowd, as if she were only asking to be polite. “Of course, what woman isn’t intrigued by diamonds?” She glanced at him with a smile, trying to gauge his reaction. “Are you involved directly with them? Or is this more of an investment opportunity?” She knew she risked encouraging his interest, and the lift of his brow only confirmed it. But how else was she supposed to find anything out? She didn’t think she was asking anything too out of the ordinary. And hey, it was better for him to be on the defensive than her, right?

  “I suppose you could consider it an investment opportunity.”

  Great. Now what? She sipped her wine, debating the wisdom of making another attempt. Her Mata Hari skills were apparently right up there with her mascara skills. “One of the staff mentioned you had to go out early this morning.” She shifted her gaze to the crowds once more. “Another business meeting? That’s one problem with modern technology, I suppose. You can be tracked down anywhere. Makes it that much more difficult to get away from it all.”

  Stefan shifted just enough that she was forced to look up at him. “And yet it seems you’ve managed to do just that. With your family business out West, that is.”

  She tensed and swore silently. She really sucked at this. “I’m sure your time is more in demand than mine. What exactly is it that you do?”

  He looked into her eyes for a very long moment, but before he could answer, a house staffer appeared at his elbow.

  “Mr. Bjornsen? There is a call for you.”

  “Thank you,” he said, never taking his gaze from her. “I’ll take it inside.” Stefan took her wineglass, turned it, and putting his mouth where hers had been, drained the last sip. “Perhaps when I get back, we can discuss exactly what it is I’d like to be doing.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  He graced her with the full force of his smile, then tipped her chin with one elegant, tapered finger until her lips pressed together. “Who knows, by nightfall we might be able to really give Ms. Bitsy Henessy something to talk about.”

  By the time it occurred to Darby to follow him, perhaps eavesdrop on his side of the phone conversation, Stefan had disappeared into the house. She supposed his bold proposition shouldn’t have caught her so badly off guard. He’d made it clear this morning that he was interested.

  But while he still packed a wallop where her libido was concerned, she couldn’t help but think that, this time, it had been more about getting her off her topic—him—than it had been about getting her into bed.

  Cinderella Rule #15

  Obligations. Social. Business. Personal. Professional. Life is an unending parade of them. Balance is key. As is discovering how to succeed at fulfilling them without sacrificing your happiness in the process. So use one to enhance the other at every given opportunity.

  —AURORA

  Chapter 15

  Well, Shane had finally done the impossible. He’d discovered a group of people so tight-assed that even he couldn’t shake them up.

  He’d gotten quite a few stares, a couple of Oh, my’s, but apparently, when you had as much money as he now did, you could pretty much do anything you wanted, no matter how bizarre, and those around you simply smiled and accepted it as eccentricity. Because to do otherwise might mean they’d get left out of the deal, cut out of the will, or worse, crossed off the party A-list.

  About the only positive thing he had to show for his grandstand play was that he was finally comfortable. No more ties or tasseled loafers for him. It was a start, anyway.

  Smiling as the opening lick of Mustang Sally cut through the late afternoon air, he headed up the terrace steps, then spied Stefan heading into the house alone. He glanced out over the crowd and immediately spotted Darby. She looked a bit lost, but before he could decide whether to go to her or to duck inside and follow Stefan, she was set upon by two heavily pearled women who immediately pulled her into a conversation. She’d probably appreciate a rescue at the moment, he thought, wincing as she was subjected to yet another arm’s-length inspection, but he knew she could hold her own. And the opportunity to check in on whatever Stefan was up to was too good to pass up.

  He ducked into the hallway in time to spot one of the household staffers standing with Stefan at the far end of the corridor. Stefan took the cordless phone from the young man, then allowed him to usher him through the doors into the study for some privacy. Damn. No way was he going to hear anything through solid paneled oak. “Ah-ha,” he said, snapping his fingers. He took one side of the split main staircase two steps at a time, then hustled down the second floor east wing corridor, through another small office used by the house manager. Ducking through the door at the rear of the room, he entered a narrow back stairwell used by the household help . . . this one leading right to a faux panel at the rear of the study.

  Once at the base of the stairs, he paused long enough so that he could hear something other than his heart pounding in his ears, then very, very carefully engaged the pressure latch, catching the bottom edge of the panel with his toe so it wouldn’t swing wide-open. Allowing himself only a tiny sliver of an opening, he shifted slightly sideways. Stefan wasn’t in his line of vision, so he kept his ear close to the crack, hoping to hear some of his conversation.

  “No. From what I’ve observed, he knows nothing about it,” Stefan was saying. There was a long pause. He could hear Stefan’s shoes scuff across the century-old Persian carpet. He was pacing.

  Shane held his breath and prayed that Stefan wouldn’t tread too closely to the rear corner of the room.

  “No,” Stefan said abruptly, vehemently. “I won’t risk that. No reason to jeopardize things now. I can take care of this my own way.” Another pause, then a short burst of Swedish epithets. “There is no need to do anything rash.” His voice was closer to the panel now, and Shane instinctively shrank back. “Yes, I’m aware of that, but the buyout doesn’t look good. I don’t think it will go through. At least not soon. I have time.”

  Shane stiffened. Buyout? Was Stefan referring to the Celentrex deal? If so, then the coincidence wasn’t a coincidence after all: Stefan was involved with Alexandra. And, apparently, if Shane was reading this conversation right, wasn’t willing to let his and Big Al’s profit-m
aking little sideline die a premature death as well. Stefan walked away and Shane pressed closer to the open crack.

  “It doesn’t matter if it falls through. I told you, I can get it on my own. Funding won’t be a problem. No. I’ve got that taken care of.”

  Funding. Was that what Paul Landon’s role was? . . . And get what on his own?

  “No!” Stefan barked suddenly, making Shane twitch. There was more than anger in his voice now. If Shane wasn’t mistaken, what he’d heard had sounded a lot more like . . . fear. “Please,” Stefan went on, quieter, but still sounding tense. “I just need a little more time, that is all. Surely you can trust me that far. I’ll deliver. I promise.

  “We’re close. Very close. Just—please, don’t—” He broke off, swore again, then slammed the phone down on the desk.

  That was going to leave a mark, Shane thought, wincing. He shifted, trying to see through the crack, listening, waiting, in case Stefan picked the phone up again. But moments later he heard the doors to the hallway open, and sounds of the party and the bustle of the house staff filtering in. He waited another thirty seconds, then slipped into the study—just as the doors to the hall opened again.

  He all but dove through the side set of French doors into the attached sunroom, barely making it past a potted palm before Stefan reentered the study. He couldn’t close the doors behind him without being seen. He could only hope Stefan didn’t notice the change. He held his breath, darted a look around. Not really much in the way of hiding spots out here. The doors to the study provided almost a full view, as did the wall of windows behind him. He risked a glance into the study just as Stefan slid a small cell phone out of his jacket pocket and punched in a number, his back angled toward Shane.

  Stay or go, Shane thought. He wasn’t sure he’d hear anything out here. The wall of windows didn’t provide much of a barrier to all the party noises and the music. He spent a moment debating the merits of just strolling into the study and at least temporarily thwarting whatever Stefan’s current plan was. He spent another considering just coming out and confronting the man. But Shane had spent too many years honing his survival instincts to go that route. No, he wanted more information before he decided the best way to play this out.