Kitabı oku: «Riches to Rags Bride / The Heiress's Baby»

RICHES TO RAGS BRIDE

MYRNA MACKENZIE

THE HEIRESS’S BABY

LILIAN DARCY

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Dear Reader,

I’ve always been fascinated by Cinderella stories—tales of strong women who finally catch a break and fight through to their happily-ever-afters—but what about the opposite? The woman who appears to have everything and then loses it all? It’s not a question I, as a writer, ask myself all that often.

But then Genevieve Patchett slipped into my thoughts. Born to wealth, she’s:

• Always had plenty of pretty, totally impractical clothes and a closet full of shoes.

• Been able to buy pretty much anything she wants throughout her life.

• The daughter of very famous parents, to top it off.

In short, she seems to have it all. Until she doesn’t. Because one day, when she puts her trust in the wrong person, it all vanishes. Just like that. No money, no home, no place to go, no one to turn to, nothing left but utter terror.

And that was when she caught my attention and refused to let go. Because who, after all, can help but worry about someone so ill prepared to face a dark and dangerous world?

I couldn’t, but I wasn’t so sure about the hero, Lucas McDowell. Lucas:

• Has been deserted and been forced to fight to make his way alone. Always.

• Swears he doesn’t have a heart and doesn’t want one.

• Has learned not to trust. Anyone. Especially not pampered rich girls.

Oh, yeah, Lucas’s attitude was a concern. And Genevieve, it appeared, wasn’t gong to make it easy on him. I didn’t really know what would happen if they spent too much time together. Disaster was a real possibility.

But I had to find out. I hope you enjoy their rocky backwards Cinderella story.

Best wishes

Myrna Mackenzie

RICHES TO RAGS BRIDE

MYRNA MACKENZIE

About the Author

MYRNA MACKENZIE grew up not having a clue what she wanted to be (she hadn’t been born a princess, the one job she thought she might like because of the steady flow of pretty dresses and crowns), but she knew that she loved stories and happy endings, so falling into life as a romance writer was pretty much inevitable. An award-winning author with over 35 novels written, Myrna was born in a small town in Dunklin County, Missouri, grew up just outside Chicago, and now divides her time between two lakes in Chicago and Wisconsin—both very different and both very beautiful. She adores the internet (which still seems magical after all these years), loves coffee, hiking, attempting gardening (without much success), cooking and knitting. Readers (and other potential gardeners, cooks, knitters, writers, etc.) can visit Myrna online at www.myrnamackenzie.com, or write to her at PO Box 225, La Grange, IL 60525, USA.

CHAPTER ONE

GENEVIEVE PATCHETT stared at the solid mahogany door of the office where she was scheduled to have the first job interview of her life. Despite being twenty-six, she had an empty resume, a lot of explaining to do and a stack of bills so high that her throat closed up every time she looked at it. And Lucas McDowell, the man who held her future and her very survival in his hands, was reputed to be a cold, hard businessman who only hired the best. She was not the best.

Reaching for the doorknob, her hand trembled and she gripped the knob tightly, turning her attention to getting in and trying to at least appear competent. She had to have this job. Her friend Teresa had gone out on a limb to get her this interview.

Genevieve opened the door just a touch … and immediately stopped. Muffled, angry sounds came from the other side of the door. Female sounds.

Getting louder.

Suddenly the door flew open, and she found herself staring at a tall, frowning brunette beauty.

Gen took a step back, and the woman barked out a harsh, ugly laugh. “Oh, don’t run away, sweetheart. He’s all yours now. Just be careful and don’t fall for him. He doesn’t have a soul.” Tossing her head, the woman glanced back over her shoulder. “Lucas, your next victim is here.”

With that, the woman moved down the hall, and Genevieve could finally get a good look at the broad-shouldered, dark-haired man standing behind a desk. For half a second she wondered if running was an option. Lucas McDowell might be wearing a suit most men couldn’t afford to even dream of owning, but he had the strong-boned face of a street fighter, gunmetal-gray eyes that seemed to see right through to all her insecurities and … he was frowning. At her. Not at the disappearing back of the woman, but at her.

“Come in. Shut the door. Sit down,” he said, motioning to a plush blue chair that faced the desk.

She did as he said, quickly and without a sound. She was used to anger and to being treated like a mouse. Her parents had been volatile people. Of course, she’d never before had so much riding on her behavior….

The man gave her a long once-over. His gaze passed over her face to the pulse in her throat and down to where her hands were clamped on the arms of the chair. With some effort, she slowed her breathing and loosened her grip.

“You’re Genevieve Patchett, I take it,” he said. “All right, let’s begin.” But it was clear as the wall of windows behind him that he had no interest in beginning anything with her. He was still frowning.

Genevieve wanted to whimper. For the thousandth time since her world, her security, and all that was familiar to her had been stolen six months ago, she felt as if she was hanging over the edge of a cliff by her fingertips. And slipping. The fear inside her was like a living being. Her reputation was destroyed, and soon the last of her money, all that was left of her fortune after her ex-fiancé financial advisor had emptied most of her accounts, would be gone. Then she’d be reduced to sleeping on the streets. So running from the only job interview she’d been able to secure didn’t appear to be an option. Lucas McDowell was either going to save her or eat her for lunch.

Stop it, she told herself. The man might have eyes with steel gates, he might be an industry giant, his recreational equipment company in the Fortune 500, but she had grown up in a family that was feted by the elite of the world. The fact that she was now reduced to scrambling for her next meal didn’t change that. And her parents had always told her that attitude, or at least the pretense of it, could get a person anything.

“Mr. McDowell.” She sat up very straight and tall and forced herself to ignore the unpleasant scenario with the woman she’d just witnessed. She did her best to stare straight into those intimidating silver-gray eyes. “I would like …”

“No,” he said, his voice like a silken knife as he cut her off. “Ms. Patchett, we both know that what you would like isn’t what’s going to decide your fate today.”

“My … fate?” The way he said it, as if he already had some sort of power over her when she’d walked in here of her own volition, made Genevieve feel ill. More alone than she already felt. Still, she’d been lucky that he’d granted her this audience, because the result of this interview would affect her a lot more than it would him. “Okay,” she agreed, waiting for him to go on. The urge to squirm under his insolent inspection was intense.

“Let’s make one thing clear. The only reason you’re here is that one of my employees just eloped to Australia and you’ve been recommended to me by Teresa March,” he said, although Genevieve already knew that. It was a sheer stroke of luck that Teresa had been in town visiting relatives and mentioned that Lucas, a man Teresa had once worked for, was in Chicago looking for an assistant just when Genevieve was starting to count her last pennies. Teresa hadn’t even hesitated. She’d insisted on trying to get Gen a job.

What should I say? Genevieve wondered. Should I say anything? Should I tell him how grateful I am to Teresa? Will that make me look too desperate? She didn’t know. Despite being twenty-six, this was all virgin territory for her. Debutantes didn’t have to worry about such things.

Go with your gut feelings, she thought, but doing that had made her trust Barry and enabled him to steal all her money and betray her, to hurt her. Still, Teresa might well have saved her life by getting her this interview. She deserved praise.

“Teresa is a saint,” she said, then blushed when Lucas lifted one eyebrow. Teresa had a well-known reputation as a fun-loving party girl even if she was a very intelligent party girl who never let her fun get in the way of work.

“Well, she’s not exactly a saint, but she’s really a very nice person, once you get to know her,” Genevieve corrected. “I … Of course you do know her and …”

Lucas’s expression told her nothing. He simply waited as she grew more flustered.

Genevieve wanted to clap her hand over her mouth. Why was she babbling? Lucas McDowell clearly didn’t consider her his dream candidate. Now, he was going to think that she had air for brains and send her away without a job!

“I’m incredibly grateful to her for getting this interview for me,” she concluded somewhat lamely, then immediately wondered if that comment made her sound too pathetically eager.

Giving her a quick but very thorough glance, one that made her feel as if he could read her thoughts and see right down to the pale pink stripe on her underwear, he casually scribbled something on a notepad. Genevieve’s heart started to pound more furiously than it already had been. She had a vision of herself spending her last dime and not knowing which way to turn or where to go.

“I’m sorry. I … Mr. McDowell, could we please start over?” she asked.

He put the pad down and came around the desk, leaning back against it and crossing his arms. Now he was close and so tall that Genevieve was forced to look up into those too perceptive eyes.

“Start over?”

“Yes. Like this. I’m Genevieve Patchett, I understand that you have a job to fill and I would very much like to be the person to do that job. I have references.” She pulled out the list Teresa had helped her compose and held it out. The fact that those references were mostly from people who might not yet have heard all the evil rumors Barry had spread about her made her feel guilty. She wanted to ask Lucas not to believe any gossip he heard about her, but Teresa had warned her not to. Still, it was difficult to keep her mouth shut. Dishonesty, even by omission, didn’t come naturally to her.

Lucas took the paper, his big hand just inches from hers. Her breath felt as if it was trapped in her chest as Lucas put the paper behind him on his desk without looking at it.

“You don’t want them?” Her voice came out too breathless.

“I don’t need them. I’ve already checked your background. I know all I need to know. If I hadn’t checked you out beforehand, you wouldn’t be here.”

“I see,” she said softly. But her mind was a whirl. What did he know? What had he heard? What hadn’t he heard?

For the first time, Lucas smiled slightly. He was a rough-hewn man, but even that hint of a smile transformed his face into something … mesmerizingly male and virile. And dangerous. Genevieve realized she was trying to push back farther in her chair before she stopped herself and years of lessons in posture kicked in. She sat up even straighter, raised her chin higher. Try to at least look confident and competent, she ordered herself.

“You don’t see,” he said. “But that’s not your fault. This job won’t be exactly like anything you’ve done before.”

She opened her mouth to tell him that she hadn’t ever had a job, then closed it. He’d said that he knew her background. If that was true, then he undoubtedly knew that. But maybe he wanted to test her honesty. She opened her mouth again, then shut it once more. Honesty could lose this for her. And then she’d starve and then …

“I—” She closed her eyes, prepared to do the right thing or at least hope that the words that came out of her mouth would be the right ones. It was still a matter of choosing truth over famine. A woman couldn’t eat truth for breakfast.

“You’ve never had a real job before, have you?” he asked, ending her dilemma.

A wave of nausea swept over her. She swallowed hard. “Does it matter?” Please say no. Please say no.

“I don’t know yet. It depends.”

Her heart started pounding. This must have been what walking a tightrope over a roiling river felt like. There were so many mistakes a person could make, and any one of them would land her in the water.

Genevieve took a deep, shaky breath, hoping that the man didn’t notice how nervous she was. “What—what does it depend on?”

“For starters, you don’t have a clue what this job even entails yet, do you?”

“Not really.” She hoped that it didn’t entail anything too revolting or something that was beyond her abilities. “What do you want me to do?”

“What I want if you suit, if I give you the job … well, let’s begin with a few questions about you.”

Exasperating man. He hadn’t answered her question and … oh, no, here came the tough part. Don’t ask me about the lies Barry spread about me, because I’ve already had too many people turn their backs on me because of that.

“What do you consider to be your talents?”

Uh-oh, this felt like one of those questions that could get her thrown out the door before the interview had even begun. “I …” Under less nerve-racking circumstances, I can make small talk, I know how to dress, how to choose a good wine, how to oversee servants. Somehow she doubted that any of those were going to be of any assistance here. “I’m not sure exactly what kind of talent you’re looking for,” she said, stalling and hoping he would give her a hint that she could build on.

“Not really an answer, is it?” he said, catching her in the act. “All right. I need someone who knows how to make things happen.”

Bad news, since the only things she’d made happen lately were bad things. She was not going to say that, she thought, feeling suddenly faint. Don’t keel over, she ordered herself. Just don’t.

“I’ve …” Her voice cracked. Somehow she managed to swallow, take a deep breath and start over. If she didn’t come up with a suitable answer now, if she didn’t sound convincing, she was going to lose this chance. Genevieve struggled to keep breathing normally. “I’ve—I’ve organized … events and managed guest lists,” she said, her voice coming out amazingly strong, given how frantically her heart was pounding. Okay, the event was merely a big society party her parents threw every year, and frankly, her part had never been that difficult. Her parents always told her exactly what they wanted and they always wanted the same thing. As for the guest list, people had always flocked to see her parents’ art, so her main task had been whittling the list down to manageable proportions. Her role had always been a quiet one both in planning the party and in keeping records of her parents’ work.

Lucas folded his arms over his chest, which only served to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders and made her feel even smaller than she was. A small smile lifted his lips. As if he knew what she was thinking. She hoped he didn’t know what she was thinking.

“Your parents, Ann and Theo Patchett, certainly set the world on fire with their flair for design and their talent with stained and blown glass. I understand that you traveled with them everywhere, were at their side at every event, and I imagine that you were born making things happen.”

But he imagined wrong, Genevieve thought. Her parents had been personalities and she had learned how to do all the things they wanted, how to dress and walk and talk and smile and how to quietly live in the large shadow they cast, how to bolster their egos. There was nothing powerful about her. And in recent history, nothing wise. After her parents’ deaths, she had been taken in by a con man, one her parents had adored and introduced her to. She had been engaged to that con man, robbed by him and dumped by him, too. She hadn’t made things happen.

Apparently, Lucas McDowell thought otherwise. Should she tell him the truth?

No, you’re good at following orders. Just … follow orders and try to do what he tells you. If he hires you, that is.

“Your parents decorated some of the most luxurious homes in the world,” he was saying. “Teresa caught me just when I was going to begin interviewing candidates. I need someone who knows decorating and has organizational skills. I’m extremely interested in that kind of talent.”

Genevieve wondered exactly what Teresa had told Lucas and how well he actually knew Teresa. Teresa was a smart woman, no doubt she’d been a good employee, but she had no aversion to embellishing a story, either. If Lucas thought that Genevieve was a creative genius like her parents and if he found out the truth … Genevieve couldn’t brazenly lie, not after what had happened with Barry. She opened her mouth to say that she was nothing like her parents, then shut it again. Wasn’t there some way she could make this work out for both herself and Lucas?

“I don’t have my parents’ experience on a commercial level or … okay, on any level,” she said truthfully, “but I have spent my whole life in beautiful rooms, admiring them, studying them for long hours, in some cases cataloguing the details when my parents wanted assistance.” Which wasn’t what he was looking for at all, she didn’t think, but … he studied her closely.

She tried not to squirm or to think of him as a gorgeous man. That was so not relevant. Her trust had been betrayed many times in her life in small ways, but never so thoroughly as it had been with Barry. Love—being blinded by a man—had been her downfall. It wasn’t happening again. Even if the incident with the beautiful brunette hadn’t taken place, Teresa had already warned her that Lucas had a solid reputation as a fast-moving rolling stone and a heartbreaker who never really let his guard down with a woman. She’d also said that he was totally tempting, but she needn’t have bothered.

It doesn’t matter how astoundingly virile he is, Gen thought. She didn’t want a man. Of any kind. All that she wanted right now was work. Money. Salvation. A new life where she would stand on her own two feet, order her own world and rely on no one. Trust no one. Love no one. Simple rules.

But first she had to get the job. She looked up to find Lucas studying her closely.

“Who chose your outfit?” he suddenly asked.

“Excuse me?” She blinked and lurched in her chair, but she quickly regained her calm expression. What an odd question, but … so what? Maybe he was just some sort of eccentric. As long as he wasn’t a lecher or an ax murderer—and she’d never read anything that indicated that he was either of those—nothing else mattered beyond the fact that he had a job that needed filling.

“I chose it.” Okay, she’d had it made. She’d had plenty of money at the time.

“Hmm.”

Genevieve tried to keep from responding to that. And lost the battle. “Is that a bad ‘hmm’?”

“It’s an interested one.” He looked at her bronze skirt and dark gold blouse with the small, cream-colored star-shaped glass buttons she’d made herself, each one slightly asymmetrical and different from the next. “The effect is muted, tasteful, in some ways even a bit old-fashioned.” Which was right. This was one of the oldest outfits she had. “But the buttons are … most unusual. They’re a bit out of step with the rest of your attire, but in spite of being a bit unconventional, they work. It’s an outfit, not a room that needs decorating, but the skills are related. You know about color and planning and how to mix things up so that the big picture works. And the colors complement your red hair.”

Genevieve was grateful that he hadn’t used the word fiery. Her parents hadn’t cared for her hair’s particular shade of red and had tried to get her to dye it many times. Barry had hated it, preferring blondes. Or at least preferring the blonde he’d spent Genevieve’s money on. In her one act of defiance she’d kept the color but had toned things down by pulling her hair back and out of the way in a severe ponytail that made her hair less noticeable. Or so she’d hoped.

“The skirt is too short, though,” Lucas said suddenly, and automatically Genevieve looked down to her crossed legs. The skirt exposed her knees and a bit more.

She bit her lip.

“Say it,” he said.

“I’m … sorry,” she said, although she wasn’t sorry. She was chagrined. Lucas was either not going to hire her or he was going to be very difficult to work for. “I … this is the length I usually wear my skirts. Will this be a problem with your dress code?”

Lucas looked amused. “I don’t have one. I just wanted to know if you would defend your choice.”

“I—” She wanted to tell him that he was being unfair. She was interviewing and was afraid to argue with a potential employer. But telling someone they were being unfair wasn’t her style. She was the “go along to get along” type. And right now she was scared and nervous and tired and hungry.

“I wish you wouldn’t play games with me,” she said, surprising herself. Maybe she was more tired than she’d realized, because she was definitely acting stupid. What man would hire someone who reprimanded him? She opened her mouth to apologize.

Too late. Lucas was already speaking. “You’re right. My comment was unfair, given the circumstances. So, let’s just do this. For the rest of this interview, you try turning off the nerves and act exactly the way you would if you were already working for me. All right?”

“And …” She swallowed hard. “That is … what if you don’t like the way I act?”

He shrugged. “I won’t hire you. The minute I have an inkling of doubt I’ll end the interview. Is that fair?”

It was terrifying. “Are you always this frank, Mr. McDowell?” If he hired her, would she be on full alert every hour she was on the job?

“Always.”

He stared directly into her eyes, and she couldn’t look away. That intense expression of his … she felt as if he was daring her to object to his tactics. Genevieve’s body began to hum with awareness. This man was very potent, and the fact that he held her future in his hands was very scary, but she had told herself that she preferred truth to deception and just because that truth was unnerving wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Because

Lucas McDowell hadn’t ended the interview yet. She still had a chance to get back on to solid ground.

“I think … I’m good with all this, Mr. McDowell. You’re being fair.”

“I’m being a bit of a jerk, and your skirt’s just fine.”

It was. It was perfectly decent. Even so, Genevieve was suddenly aware of her knees in a way she’d never been aware in her life. She was very conscious of the fact that Lucas McDowell had been studying her legs. Even though he had shown no interest whatsoever.

“Okay,” she said.

He looked as if he was going to smile, but … not quite. “Okay, that I’m a jerk or that your skirt fits the bill?”

“I—”

He shook his head. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. Answer this, instead. Do you have any strong feelings about the homeless, about people who have no money or prestige, people who may have been in trouble? ”

I’m seriously going to faint, she thought. Is he talking about me? How much research did he do? Does he know everything about my situation?

“I think … that people shouldn’t be judged by their financial situations. I would hope that most people felt that way.” Even though she knew that that wasn’t the case.

Lucas nodded. “All right. Last question. You and Teresa haven’t seen much of each other since you’ve grown up, but when you were young, you were close, she tells me. I’m sure she shared secrets with you. I make it my business to know everything about my employees past and present. Can you tell me some of those secrets?”

“No!” Genevieve’s voice came out a bit too loud, but shock at the bizarre and rude question rushed through her. For a moment she felt physically ill. Maybe she’d never interviewed for a job before, but she was sure that such questions were out of line and just plain alarming. What kind of man was this?

She looked up at Lucas and knew that in that moment, with that no, she had sealed her fate. The sick feeling grew. Lucas was gazing at her intently, waiting, those gray eyes mesmerizing. Hard. Cold. Demanding. What would it be like to have no money, no home, no food? No doubt she was about to find out.

“No,” she said again, softly this time. Teresa, despite her playful attitude and her money, had had a harsh childhood. She trusted Genevieve. “No.”

Lucas’s cold gray gaze softened, just a touch. “When can you begin work?” he asked.

“What?”

“Work. When can you begin work? That’s what you came for, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I thought—your question … I …”

“Most people have a few dark secrets in their closet. I have no interest in prying into Teresa’s past. What I needed to know was whether you would spill those secrets in order to get a job. That’s all I needed to ascertain.”

His deep voice delivering the news she most needed to hear seemed to rumble right through her body, touching every nerve ending on its journey. Genevieve let out a deep, shaky breath, still disoriented and more than a little alarmed by her physical attraction to this man when he was so obviously someone who didn’t play by the rules. She had been fooled by people reputed to be straight shooters. How on earth could she deal with someone whose methods she couldn’t even begin to understand?

“I’m afraid that you have me at a disadvantage, Mr. McDowell. Teresa told me that the job might involve a little decorating, some clerical or organizational skills. She told me what little she knew, but … as I mentioned earlier, I have no real idea what the job will entail or why you would need to know whether I would spill my guts about a friend’s past.”

“I know, and I apologize for the bizarre nature of this interview. My only rationale is that the work you’ll be doing, should you accept the task, is in some ways very public, but other parts are very sensitive. The person I hire has to be capable of dealing with sensitive personal information, but it’s difficult to measure that kind of loyalty. Most job candidates would insist that they were capable of discretion, but in reality not that many can resist retelling a juicy story. So, my apologies for my methods. I guarantee that from here on out, we’ll have the most practical and ordinary of business relationships.”

Genevieve highly doubted that. There was nothing ordinary about Lucas McDowell. “All right,” she said. “Can you tell me what the job is now, please?”

He looked slightly amused.

“What?”

“You’re exceptionally polite, given the fact that I no doubt creeped you out.”

She tilted her head. “You hold the cards.”

“So I do. All right, Genevieve, I’ve bought a large piece of property in the suburbs. The plan is to create a shelter for women who are down on their luck, a place to rebuild the lives of those who’ve been damaged by poverty or circumstances. We’re going to make it something the city can be proud of. I’m hoping it will spawn other such establishments, so we’re going to give it plenty of publicity. I want Angie’s House to be a perfect jewel, a success that will be the epicenter of a growing movement that will change lives. That means lots of buzz in order to jump-start the project with the public and potential sponsors of future Angie’s Houses.

“However, once we open the doors, we can’t forget that the women who’ll live there have already been betrayed by life. Some of them will want to keep the more personal aspects of their hardships to themselves. Others may put their trust in you by sharing parts of their stories. It’s important that whoever I hire knows how to put on a big show but also how to keep a confidence. I have to know that whoever works with me will talk up the concept while never betraying the trust of the prospective new tenants. It’s a fine line we’ll be walking.”

Genevieve knew what it was like to have her trust betrayed. She shuddered.

“That’s why you asked me about Teresa.”

“If you had tried to say one word about her past, I would have stopped you. And I couldn’t have hired you.”

She looked up into Lucas’s harsh face. “Mr. McDowell, I assure you that I understand. It isn’t always easy or smart to trust someone. Words aren’t enough.”

“Agreed.”

“So … why me?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I choose my employees carefully. Teresa is trustworthy. She recommended you. That alone wouldn’t have been enough, however. I need a good project manager and I’m sure I could have found someone else. You, however, have an edge.”

For the job of project manager? Genevieve wanted to close her eyes. Had Teresa overstated her skills? Did Lucas McDowell think she knew more than she did?

“What’s my edge?” she managed to ask.

“If you’ve organized your parents’ society events, you have a handle on how to make things happen and how to deal with time constraints, problems, setbacks and personnel. You’ve proven that you can keep a secret should that become necessary, and you have some experience with decor, something I lack. Furthermore, and most importantly, because as I said, I don’t want this project, Angie’s House, to be a single entity, you have the name to get people talking, to attract the kind of attention we need to bring in other donors for other houses.”

Genevieve struggled to keep her hands from shaking. The last thing she wanted right now was attention. The last thing she was capable of was bringing in people on the mere mention of her name.

She tried to swallow, struggled to find her voice. “You have a famous name.”

He shook his head. “I have money and a successful business. With a few exceptions, famous entrepreneurs don’t become household names. But people like your parents? World renowned artists? Yes, they do. Their name is like a glowing diamond. It puts people in a good mood, gets them excited. And you happen to share it.”

Genevieve’s heart fell a bit. Her importance hinged on her parents’ talents as it always had. She wanted to back away. But she couldn’t afford to.

“Does that mean I really do have the job?” She managed to ask.

“If you want it.”

She wanted it, but she must have been slow to say yes.

“If you don’t, tell me now. I’m on a strict timeline.

I have another job waiting in France when this one is done, an opening of a new store in Japan after that and I intend to finish up here in six weeks. So, if you can’t do this, Genevieve, or if you don’t want to, tell me. You’re free to go.”

She wanted to walk away. There were things she didn’t like about this setup. Her name, unlike her parents’ names, would be of no use. She should tell Lucas that. She didn’t really even have the skills he needed. And then there was the man, this intimidating, far too masculine man. But … hunger gnawed at her. Her faintness wasn’t only from nerves. She wasn’t free. She had to have this.

“I’d like the job, please,” she said. “I’ll be your …”

“Project manager.”

She nodded. The title was that belonging to a bolder person, one who knew how to take charge of situations and not be tricked or bullied into doing things she didn’t want to do.

“I’ll be your project manager. I’m your woman.”

For a moment, those gray eyes turned fierce. Genevieve realized just how little she knew about this man.

“Good.” Lucas held out his hand, and Genevieve automatically reached out. His fingers closed around hers, his hand much larger than hers. She should have felt trapped, insignificant. Instead, as heat seeped from his skin to hers, she was suddenly aware of him as a man more than as her new boss. That could be a problem if she let it. She wouldn’t.

“You should know that I believe in being hands-on in a project like this, Genevieve,” he said, releasing her. “If you and I are going to oversee and sell this project, we have to know it from the ground up. Every higher level employee at every factory and store I own spent some time in the trenches so that they could fully understand the business, so we’ll get started on your ground-floor experience right away. I’ll pick you up tomorrow. We’re headed straight for Angie’s House. Dress for work.”

“What kind?”

“The dirty kind. Do you have clothing you can mess up?”

She had clothing. It was the one thing she still had in abundance. Whether or not she had what Lucas meant, however, was questionable.

“No problem,” she said, hoping her smile was reassuring. “Let me give you my address.”

“I have it already.”

Once again, Genevieve had that feeling of being overwhelmed, too small and insignificant next to this man. She felt vulnerable, and vulnerable was the last thing she wanted or needed to feel right now.

“I won’t let you get to me, Mr. McDowell,” she muttered to herself later when she scoured her closet looking for something that could rightfully be called work clothes.

But she knew she lied. The man seemed to know everything about her. He felt like a powerful dark tornado that drops out of the sky, wreaks havoc in your life and then roars off again. He had her at a disadvantage, and she had sworn she would never be at a disadvantage with a man again. She would have to work on that and just start ignoring all the unnerving things about Lucas. She hoped that was possible.

Lucas shook his head after Genevieve was gone. This might well be a disaster in the making. She was young, destitute and had never worked at a job in her life. Despite her telling him that she wanted the job, she might change her mind later if there were complications or strife or if something better came along. He’d spent most of his youth dealing with people who thought they wanted to do something good but later changed their minds when things hit a rough patch.

What’s more, she was far too pretty. Even with her hair scraped back from her face so brutally, or maybe because of it, her classic features were striking. And also … a vision of her legs and those luscious knees crept in, and he quickly slapped that right out of his consciousness. The last thing he needed was to get involved with a socialite who was down on her luck and looking to improve her situation. Women … and others had used him or tried to use him before. Repeatedly. As an orphan in the foster system, people had thought taking him in would earn them Good Samaritan points. As a man who’d fought his way to wealth and power, women like Rita thought he’d make a nice trophy or else they wanted his money and power. The only thing that none of them realized was that he had nothing to give them, emotionally or any other way. He’d spent all his emotional capital years ago, wasted it, burnt it, lost it. Now all he had—all he would ever allow himself—was work and guilt.

But he was not going to feel guilty about Genevieve Patchett. Their relationship would be work only, nothing personal. He wasn’t responsible for her problems, and she wasn’t going to be on his conscience.

And he wasn’t going to think about her legs, either, or those gorgeous green eyes. At least not much.

CHAPTER TWO

THE NEXT MORNING, Genevieve crawled from bed and faced the dirty, cracked and chalky walls of the small room she had rented.

Today is the day I start working for Lucas McDowell, she thought, trying to choke back the fear that accompanied the thought. Would she be able to be the kind of employee that Lucas wanted? She’d never even needed to work before. But now …

“I need—”

Her words were interrupted by an angry shout echoing through the paper-thin walls. Something hard hit the wall. Caught off guard, Genevieve jumped. Even though such sounds weren’t at all unusual, she had yet to get used to how close and heated everything was. How desperate. How different from the life of luxury that was all she’d known until a few months ago. Tension coiled within her. That old life was gone. It wasn’t just this place that seemed desperate. She was desperate.

The tension slid up a notch as, once again, the reality of her situation hit home. The sun had already risen and Genevieve knew that anytime now, her landlady might appear, screeching, demanding the rent that Gen didn’t have. Threatening.

Before now, no one had ever seriously threatened her in her entire life.

But Mrs. Dohenny would, and she had the right to do that. Genevieve was a full month behind on her rent. She fought the sickness that followed that thought and tried to rush. She hoped to be gone long before Mrs. Dohenny showed up. The last thing she needed was for her new boss to find out that she was, essentially, living here without paying. Gen remembered her father yelling at a doorman who had displeased him in some way. Firing the man as he pleaded for his job so that he could feed his family. Ignoring the man’s pleas.

“Stop it,” she whispered weakly. Don’t think about that. It’s not helping. She didn’t even know why she was thinking about that incident now.

No, that was a lie. She knew. She was afraid of failing, of becoming the doorman and having Lucas fire her on her first day.

Closing her eyes for a second, she dragged in a deep, shaky breath and tried to proceed with her tasks. Quickly, she showered in the small, cramped tub with its leaking, rusty showerhead and broken, institution-green plastic tiles, exited the bathroom and moved to the battered three-legged dresser that was the only piece of furniture other than the bed and one wooden chair.

Her reflection in the cracked mirror above the dresser was too pale, the meager items on it a sad testimony to how far she had fallen. An almost empty jar of expensive cleansing cream shared space with half a tube of lipstick in a golden, emerald-studded case and a tiny half-used vial of perfume she refused to touch except in emergencies, because it felt like armor, the last little bit she possessed. Once it was gone, there would be no more.

Staring at these remnants of her past life, Genevieve sighed. The cost of these three items new would have paid her rent in this little broom closet of a room several times over, but now they were merely some of the last precious remnants of a lifestyle she’d never, ever know again.

The cheap clock clicked loudly as another minute passed. Genevieve looked at the sagging mattress so unlike the luxuriously soft bed encased in crisp scented sheets she’d once had, and a drumbeat of panic began to pound in her breast. Lucas McDowell was picking her up soon. What if he saw this room with its holes in the plaster and the windows that had bars over them to keep the bad people out? Then he would know that she couldn’t even take care of herself, much less be a project manager.

She couldn’t let that happen. She grabbed the lipstick with shaky fingers and gathered the few other items. Carefully, sparingly, trying to make these last remnants of her once elegant life last a bit longer, she began to apply her makeup. Then, she picked out the most casual clothing she could find. When Lucas got here, she would need to find a smile and something that looked like confidence. Not for the first time in her life, she wished that she was the outgoing, confident type who won people with her dazzling personality and talent instead of being the quiet, behind-the-scenes type.

But wishing had never made anything happen in her life. It hadn’t made her parents love her. It hadn’t saved her from her con-man financial-advisor fiancé. All she had to help her right now was the determination to do whatever she had to in order to survive.

No, more than survive, she hoped. She wanted to be … more, to become a different person: bolder, more successful, independent. Make that completely, totally, “never rely or lean on anyone again in her life” independent.

That meant she had to please Lucas McDowell.

No matter what.

Lucas frowned as he pulled up in front of the dark, ugly apartment building that matched the address he had for Genevieve Patchett. He wasn’t a native to Chicago, but he’d lived here for a while as a teenager; he’d done business in this city on numerous occasions, and even if he hadn’t, he knew a bad neighborhood when he saw one. As a child he’d lived in them, nearly died in them, and this one had “get out of here if you can” written all over it. He’d recognized that before he’d gotten within three blocks of this place. This wasn’t your standard debutante living arrangement.

Genevieve had fallen even further than he’d guessed. But then, that wasn’t his problem, was it? His new project manager’s abode wasn’t any of his business. The only reason he was here at all was to escort her to the work site, and he wouldn’t even be doing that except for the fact that summer construction had temporarily disrupted public transportation to the area where Angie’s House was located.

So ignore this place. Just go get her, he told himself, reaching for the car door handle.

At that moment he saw her. She exited the building like a rabbit being chased by a fox, zipping out the door, glancing back over her shoulder with fear in her eyes.

Yeah, that was fear. He was familiar with the expression. Something had Genevieve Patchett spooked.

“No, please don’t get out,” she said, hurrying to the passenger side of his black sports car. “I—I don’t want to be late on my first day and … and someone might hurt your car if you leave it.”

She reached for the handle, practically dove for the thing.

He exited the car, ignoring her fluttering and flustered admonitions. Despite the fact that she was none of his concern, there were rules to be followed. Rules and discipline kept a person safe and helped maintain distance. They kept things under control, and being in control was … necessary. It had always been of supreme importance ever since he finally—thank the stars—realized that he didn’t have to be at the mercy of others’ damaging, self-serving whims. So …

“I’m not that worried about the car, Genevieve.” Without another word, he moved to the passenger door and opened it for her. But as they drove away, and despite himself, he couldn’t help wondering what it was that she was so afraid of.

And that kind of speculation would have to stop. He had no business thinking anything about Genevieve Patchett beyond the tasks they would share. He liked his world well-ordered—by him—and already he could see that she, with those vulnerable green eyes that betrayed her every emotion, would create the kind of havoc that he never allowed in his life. He didn’t get deeply involved. With anyone. Certainly not with his employees, so it was a good thing that she was here to do a job and a short-term job at that. Their paths would only run parallel for a very brief period of time.

Then he would never think about her ever again. Which was a very good thing, he reminded himself.

Still, for the moment, she was here, she was his employee. That alone made her his responsibility, and … she was wearing some pale blue lacy thing. A blouse.

With pencil-slim light-colored pants. Shoes with a little heel. Very stylish. No doubt very expensive, but not the kind of thing that would survive the day ahead.

He couldn’t hold back a frown. How had he let Teresa talk him into this, he thought, then reminded himself that he was the one who had hired Genevieve, not Teresa. Because Genevieve is a Patchett, he told himself. Because she has the required skills and a name that may prove useful. Having her name attached to this project would engender the kind of attention and cachet that was needed to make Angie’s House the next big “it” charity. It would get Angie’s House in the newspapers, so how Genevieve looked to him was unimportant.

Which was a good thing, because right now, he thought, glancing to the side, she looked very good. Those clothes might be impractical but they fit her curves to perfection. Her pink mouth looked very …

Small. Pink. Moist.

Darn it, McDowell, stop it. She’s off-limits. “Is that the plainest thing you have?” he asked, scattering all those inappropriate thoughts he was having.

She fidgeted with the door handle in what looked to be a nervous reaction. “I’m sorry. It was the only thing I had that was cotton.”

“Silk and satin more your thing?” He frowned again.

Genevieve took a deep breath. “I … I hadn’t anticipated all of this.”

He wasn’t sure what “all of this” entailed but she suddenly seemed even more vulnerable than she had before. He wondered once again at the wisdom of hiring her. Could she handle this job?

“I told you about how all my employees get involved on the ground floor, but I didn’t explain how monumental this task is. The building where Angie’s House will be located is a total mess. I’m afraid your clothes are going to get pretty dirty.”

She gave a small nod, as if she was used to being handed bad news. And he guessed she was of late, given that her money was all gone.

“If my clothes get dirty, then I’ll wash them,” she said in a small, quiet voice. “I need to learn to do things like that. I’m not afraid of work, Mr. McDowell.”

Maybe she believed that, but she hadn’t seen the inside of this place yet. Her hands were pale cream, soft. Hands that didn’t do manual labor or come into contact with dirt on any kind of a regular basis. And the mere fact that she was learning how to do things like wash a blouse practically screamed “privileged.” Unlike her, he hadn’t been born to wealth, even if he had plenty of money now. He knew how to use his hands, and with the tight schedule he’d set for the completion of this project, he didn’t have time to baby her.

This was a deadline that couldn’t be missed … for numerous reasons. The opening date was significant in ways he preferred not to think about, but there was also the fact that delaying things would result in innocent, needy people waiting longer for their chance to move in. Those people had no money and never had. There wasn’t a soft-skinned, lace-and-satin princess in the bunch.

“I don’t have time to baby you,” he said as if his brain had somehow foolishly directed him to say what he was thinking. Or maybe because a part of him hoped that if he was callous with her, he would stop wanting another glimpse of those big green eyes.

“I assure you that I don’t need special treatment.” But despite the softness of her voice, he could tell that he had offended her. That was unprofessional of him. It was unacceptable. Getting personal with his employees for good or for ill was not allowed.

“What do you need?” he asked.

A slight tremble visibly rippled through her delicate frame. She seemed to consider her words carefully. “Honesty—that is, I would be happy for simple, honest work.”

So she’d started to tell him she needed honesty, then had probably decided that it was the wrong thing to say to her boss. The obvious response was to simply tell her that he would be honest with her. But he wasn’t going to say that. He had learned long ago to do what was necessary, and what was necessary wasn’t always honest or pretty. He had been raised in a harsh world of broken promises, so the only promises he made were of the most limited variety.

“You’ll have honest work and I’ll pay you well for it,” he said. It was, after all, all that he had to offer anyone.

“Thank you, Mr. McDowell.”

The weariness in her soft voice made him feel like a jerk. The relationship already felt strained, and that was a problem. For the next few weeks, they would be working together and they would need to work quickly. He needed her cooperation. He needed her not to call him Mr. McDowell, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. Maybe he didn’t want to know why.

“Just Lucas.”

“Lucas, then. I may not have been raised to be self-sufficient, but I intend to learn how to be totally independent. I have to be independent, to know that I can rely on myself to do it all. I want that more than anything. So, there’s no cheating allowed. No shortcuts such as looking for someone to marry, support or save me. I need to become totally self-sufficient, to do this and do it well, so don’t worry about the blouse.”

She smiled, a bit uncertainly, and he couldn’t help but be affected by those tell-all-her-secrets eyes and her naïveté. She had no clue what she was doing, but she was going to do it. Her determination when the odds were stacked against her made him want to learn more about her, and that wasn’t allowed. He didn’t get involved with anyone and especially not with someone like Genevieve. Because despite, or maybe because of, his association with Angie’s House and the situation that had driven him to take on this project, vulnerable women were poison to his soul, a reminder of times he wanted to forget. That wasn’t going to change.

Genevieve quickly scrambled to exit the car. She didn’t want Lucas thinking she expected him to open her door or give her any special favors.

Still, when he threw open the door of the house, she had to fight not to exclaim. The entryway was huge, and while there was very little furniture, what was there was absolutely caked in dust and dirt. Cobwebs hung everywhere, and the few cobwebs she had ever encountered in her life prior to this had sent chills running up her spine. In addition, there was plaster scattered over the filthy floor where part of the chandelier had come loose and pulled part of the ceiling with it. The windows were grimy.

“How long has this been empty?” she couldn’t help asking. “And why?”

“Years. It was originally a smaller house, enlarged and then enlarged again by a man who won the lottery, then lost all his money at a dizzying speed. It’s too big and costly for the rest of the neighborhood, not in a good enough location for anyone who could afford it. So, it sat here, unwanted and out of place for years, ever since he walked away from it. No one knew what to do with it.”

Something cold and steel-like in the way he had said “unwanted and out of place” made Genevieve turn to look at him, but his expression gave nothing away.

“Why … I don’t understand. Why would you choose it, then?”

The smallest of smiles lifted his lips. Far from making him look less dangerous, it made him seem more handsome. The flutter it brought to her stomach practically screamed “step away from the gorgeous man, Gen. This one will hurt you.”

“I’m sorry. Did I say something funny? Or wrong?” she asked.

Lucas stared directly into her eyes, pinning her so that she felt powerless to look away. The flutter intensified. She almost backed up a step to try to curb her too-feminine reaction to him. “I suppose I’m not used to hiring members of the privileged class,” he said. “Most employees steer away from questioning my motives.”

Uh-oh. Her lack of experience was showing. “I shouldn’t have asked,” she observed.

“No. Ask what you want to know. I’ll answer if I feel it’s pertinent to the project. In this case, you’re dead-on. We needed a big building, but not one that would attract a lot of attention. Tucked away in this low-income but solid and safe residential area, the women of Angie’s House won’t stand out. They can move around in safety, become members of the community and, for once in their lives, have a place where they can—hopefully—heal and find some joy and satisfaction, unfettered by fear. The building suits our needs perfectly. Come on. I’ll show you around.”

She wanted to say no. There was something so empty and sad about the house. The fact that someone had built it during a happy time in their life and then lost all that happiness hit far too close to home. But my misfortune was partly my own fault, she reminded herself. The signs about Barry had been there, but she had ignored them. There had been times during their engagement when Barry had seemed shallow or uncaring of others and she had ignored it because her parents had liked him, her friends had admired him, and some of that admiration seemed to rub off on her.

Plus, while Barry had turned out to be a first-class jerk who had stolen much of her fortune while she’d been mourning the loss of her parents, the truth was that she’d had years before that to educate herself about her finances and she hadn’t bothered to make the slightest effort. Even if she’d thought about questioning what Barry was doing, she wouldn’t have known what questions to ask. If she’d known more, she might have saved herself, but now it was too late. The damage was done. There was no going back.

That was a good thing in only one way. She’d been forced to her knees and she wouldn’t make the mistake of relying on anyone that way ever again.

“Lead on,” she said, mustering some bravado. “I’m ready.” For anything. But that last thought was a total lie. If Lucas smiled again and the hard line of his mouth softened again … well, now Genevieve finally understood what Teresa had meant when she fretted that Lucas might be too dangerous for her friend. She’d just been admonishing herself for being too trusting with one man and here she was staring at Lucas’s mouth when he was a man who was obviously, glaringly someone she had no business thinking about at all beyond the job.

So stick to business, she told herself. Try to figure out what’s required and do a good job. Otherwise, Lucas would have no reason to keep her. She would be cast aside by one more man.

She couldn’t let that happen. From now on, she was going to throw herself into this project with every ounce of her being. Down that road lay freedom, redemption, independence. “I can’t wait to get started,” she said.

Lucas raised one dark brow.

“I mean it,” Genevieve said. She needed to earn her first money, pay her overdue bills, prove herself and reclaim her self-respect.

Closing her eyes to her lack of experience, she tried not to panic at the thought of the massive task ahead. “Where should I begin?” She glanced toward the brooms and rags and cleaning supplies in one corner.

“Today we’ll just get you acclimated. I want you to get a feel for the building and the possibilities, what we need to accomplish. In time, there will be eight women living here, so you’ll want to get a sense of the space and help me decide what we’re going to do with it decorating and usage-wise. I deal in sporting goods and making money and I’ve spearheaded the construction of a number of stores, but I’m sure you’ll have more of an idea about what women might want or need in a dream home. You’re also the expert in decorating and events planning.”

“Okay. So … what type of events will those be?” Her heart was pounding so hard she was amazed Lucas couldn’t hear it. She had always been the behind-the-scenes person, not the up-front person.

“This house is in a residential neighborhood. We’ll want to make sure the locals are comfortable with us. For that, we’ll need to court them, to reassure them that the women here will be their neighbors, women committed to making life and this neighborhood a better place. This place—” he swung his arm out in an arc “—as I mentioned, is meant to be a place where women arrive broken and leave whole, with pride in who they are and who they can become.”

Genevieve couldn’t help herself then. “That’s wonderful. What you’re doing is wonderful.” She couldn’t help wondering what had sparked this project, but she didn’t dare ask. Maybe she was clueless about a lot of things, but something so far-removed from the realm of running the sporting goods empire Lucas had built his reputation on? It had to be personal.

To her surprise, he frowned at her compliment. “Wonderful is a very strong word. It doesn’t fit here. The fact is that I’m a very rich man, and I can get this started, but that’s not nearly enough. The real power lies in getting other people, lots of other people, behind Angie’s House and the next Angie’s House and the next. So when we’re done with the renovation, we’ll open the doors. I want you to plan and oversee a major open house for the most elite members of the city. Our goal is to impress them and to impress upon them the need to get involved. Finally, you’ll help me find the women who’ll live here and the employees who’ll work here.”

She blinked, trying not to be overwhelmed, trying not to panic at what was going to be expected of her. Breathe, Gen, breathe. Take it easy. Take it one step at a time, she thought. Just take one tiny step. “Okay. That all makes sense. For now, I guess—I should probably get started on the cleaning. There’s a lot of building here.”

A whole lot of scrubbing for a woman who had never done anything like that.

There was that elusive hint of a smile again, the straight, hard line of his mouth barely curving up at one corner. What had she said that was so amusing?

“I’m sure this isn’t what you grew up doing and I don’t expect you to single-handedly tackle this mess. I have two helpers coming in. They’ll be assisting you as the project progresses and they’ll be doing most of the repairing, painting and cleanup. But they’ll respect you more if they see that you’re not afraid of getting a little dirt beneath your fingernails.”

Was that a dare? Genevieve had no idea and no real idea of how to begin. She wasn’t even sure how to make use of her helpers who would be coming soon. She’d never been in this kind of position, and her parents had been flighty, self-absorbed people who probably weren’t typical employers, so there was little use in trying to utilize her past experiences. Still, she didn’t want to ask too many questions. If she was supposed to be a project manager, shouldn’t she appear … managerial? She especially didn’t want to ask anything that would make her look foolish. Barry had often made fun of her naïveté.

“All right. That makes sense. And I’m not afraid.” Not of getting dirt under her fingernails, but of Lucas, a man who overwhelmed by his presence and his manner and his looks …? Yes, she was afraid, but she didn’t want to think about that.

Instead, she picked up a broom and began to sweep. With vigor and determination. Soon the dust was swirling, flying all around, clogging her throat.

She couldn’t hold back a cough.

Lucas appeared at her side. He touched her hand.

Just the lightest of touches, but when his flesh met hers, fierce heat swirled through her, her breath caught, her whole body became aware of him as a man. She jerked back, stopped sweeping.

“Easy, Genevieve. It’s just dust. You want to push it, not attack it. Like this.” He demonstrated.

She took back the broom, embarrassed that she couldn’t even manage the simplest of tasks. With some effort, she tried not to think about how Lucas’s fingertips had felt against her skin.

It couldn’t matter. Nothing could matter except succeeding. Moving on. Moving up. Learning. And getting good at being alone.

A mere two hours into the day, Lucas looked up to see that Genevieve was soaked to the skin. She was a total mess.

A beautiful mess, he corrected, then frowned at the thought. She was washing walls and water was sluicing down her arms, slicking away the layers of dirt she’d accumulated dusting and sweeping. The moisture turned her creamy skin shiny and damp and then sloshed onto her pale blue blouse, making it cling to her body.