If The Shoe Fits

by Laurie LeClair

  IF THE SHOE FITS

  by

  Laurie LeClair

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2013 by Laurie LeClair

  All rights reserved. This work is not transferable. No part of this work can be sold, shared, copied, scanned, or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the creation of the author or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Dedication

  To the late Clifford W. Smith. Thanks, Dad, for teaching me how to dream.

  To my husband, Jim LeClair, thank you for holding my hand and my heart for the last thirty-three years. Dreams do come true.

  Chapter 1

  “Hey, lady, what’s your rush? You gonna turn into a pumpkin or somethin’?” the taxicab driver asked as he tucked the fare and tip in his top pocket.

  Charlotte King chuckled as she slammed the car door shut. She dashed through the drenching rain.

  With one finger curled tightly around the metal garment bag hook, Charlie jumped into several puddles. She rushed up the walkway and stairs to the massive oak door guarding the stony fortress she once called home.

  Under the shelter of the overhang, she caught her breath in the chilly night air. With her free hand, she brushed back the wet tendrils of dark hair from her cheeks. Cool droplets of rain slithered down the back of her neck, making her shiver.

  In spite of her soggy condition, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth at the evening ahead. The mandatory attendance tonight seemed a small price to pay if it could somehow assist in getting one of her stepsisters married. “One down and one to go,” she whispered hopefully.

  Her stepmother’s offer this morning was too good to refuse. Charlie would use her many marketing talents and people skills to promote her stepsisters to their prospective grooms. In exchange, her stepmother promised invigorating new interest in the family store.

  The implication lay there, thick and heavy, between them. King’s Department Store, her late father’s beloved store, would benefit immensely in the end.

  And the store needed it more than ever. Charlie’s heart had sunk after seeing the latest slumping quarterly sales reports in the managers’ meeting earlier in the day. The grim news hit especially hard; the store couldn’t keep this downward pace without someone suffering. Her stepmother had made it quite clear that layoffs were a foregone conclusion. How could they even think of getting rid of the faithful employees who had stuck with them for decades? They were like family to Charlie.

  And, next on the chopping block would be the store itself. The holidays were just a few short months away. This season would make or break King’s. She swallowed hard. It was do or die.

  Charlie shook her head, clearing her mind of the dark outcome. She had to fix this. So many people were counting on her. She couldn’t let them down. She had to perform to her stepmother’s liking tonight and get the woman, who was in charge of King’s and who controlled the purse strings, to release her stronghold on the store’s remodeling and marketing budgets. In her heart of hearts, Charlie knew it would take drastic revamping to lure customers back in the declining store. But she could do it. She would save her father’s store.

  Visions of customers clamoring for their newest and finest goods and sales skyrocketing made Charlie giddy with anticipation.

  In her bag she’d neatly tucked her sketchbook, pages filled with new layouts and future innovations to present to her stepmother in a private meeting after dinner this evening. Now, Charlie clutched it a little bit tighter; this could be the new beginning for King’s.

  All her father’s dreams could come true. It was up to Charlie to make sure that happened. She’d promised him. It was a nine-year-old girl’s promise to her dying father.

  A promise was a promise.

  And she’d lived that desperate need to honor him for nearly twenty years now, lived and breathed the store and his dream.

  “Now this,” she said softly. A part of it nagged at her. A marriage of convenience? Her stepsisters? Her parents had one, though. It had worked. They’d fallen deeply in love and were devoted to each other until the day her mother had died.

  Love in a marriage of convenience could still happen, couldn’t it?

  “If only I could get the stepmother married off, too.” A shudder went through her, at the cool breeze rushing over her damp body or the image of a man actually brave enough to marry her stepmother; Charlie couldn’t be sure which thought had caused that particular sensation.

  She gave one last lingering look at her father’s house.

  Yellow beams of light beckoned from the windows. The fortress, awash in warmth and cheer, appeared welcoming to all who needed refuge from this dark, rainy night. It hadn’t felt like her home since her father died. A pang of nostalgia rushed through her.

  Charlotte cast that sad thought aside and focused on what lie ahead. Desperate times called for desperate measures. She’d live up to her part. Once the distraction of getting her eldest stepsister engaged was over, then all Charlie had to do was convince her stepmother that King’s Department Store, the once grand family business started by her late father, was worth saving even in these hard times.

  “One good deed deserves another, right?”

  Smiling, she knocked on the hard wood. Her cold knuckles ached at the rough contact. In the next instant, the huge door flew open.

  “Dolly,” she cried, stepping into the foyer and dropping the heavy black bag. She hugged the short, round older woman who’d practically raised her. Curly, gray hair brushed her cheek as she embraced her friend and confidante. The hint of rose perfume and pressed face powder tickled her senses.

  “Why, Miss Charlie, where have you been?” Dolly asked, pulling slightly away and holding her at arm’s length. “And dripping wet, too.” With a frown gathering between her usually sparkling blue eyes and shaking her head, she said, “You’ll catch your death like that.”

  At the concern-laced chastisement, Charlie smiled widely, feeling loved. She shrugged. “I was being held hostage in a taxicab, of all places. When I got within a block, I hopped out and escaped down the street.”

  Dolly chuckled. Closing the door, she bent to pick up the dropped bag. “Oh, you’re late. We’d better hurry up and get you changed. Did you bring the one I told you to?”

  “Your favorite, just like you asked.”

  “And the shoes?”

  “The shoes, too.”

  “That’s my Charlie.”

  She nodded her head to the closed door of the formal living room. “Is the barracuda fuming?”

  “Shush now, she’ll hear you.”

  Charlie grinned. She’d been calling her stepmother Barracuda since the day her father brought his new bride home. The name couldn’t have been more perfect for the razor-sharp tongued woman who zeroed in on her foe with lethal precision and attacked. Charlie had seen it a thousand times, both in her personal and professional dealings with the woman.

  An impish delight took hold as Charlie asked, “And has Prince Charming arrived?”

  “He has. Been waiting on you for half an hour, too.”

  “It’s not me he’s come to inspect for a bride.”

  The older woman tucked her arm through the crook of Charlie’s elbow and steered her to the wide, elegant oak staircase. “If you ask me, them two stepsisters of yours in there can’t measure up to the dimple on your backside.”

  “Why, Dolly, you’ve been looking again.”

  That had her friend giggling like a schoolgirl. Charlie joined in as they raced up the stairs to the gues
t bedroom. On the way, Dolly gossiped shamelessly, “My, he is a fine looking one, though—”

  ***

  Prince Charming, as the papers dubbed him, leaned his hand on the oak mantel above the fireplace, his back to the opulent gold parlor. Never in Alexander Royale’s life had he wished to burst out laughing as much as he did now. He’d overheard the feisty exchange between the maid and the last sister in the outer foyer.

  Barracuda? How perfect to describe the older, stern-faced woman behind him. If it hadn’t been for her ongoing insistence, he’d have easily brushed off his grandfather’s suggestion of dinner with the all-female King family.

  But marriage was the goal, wasn’t it? So here he was, searching for a wife to please his ailing grandparents. First the wedding and then the heir.

  Under control, Alex straightened and slowly turned to the three seated women. He had to bite his inner cheek when he witnessed the same sour expression on all their faces. They’d heard.

  Mrs. King, dressed in black from head to toe, smiled weakly at him. “More sherry, Mr. Royale? Francine will be happy to pour.”

  The girl in question, blonde with blue eyes, perched on the edge of the sofa with one hand clasped lightly over the other in her lap. One corner of her mouth shifted upward as she pasted on a smile.

  “No, thank you, Mrs. King, Francine.” The girl actually breathed a sigh of relief, which made Alex’s lips twitch.

  He darted a glance in the other girl’s direction.

  Seated beside her sister, she could have been her twin in dress alone. Matching knee-length, plain black dresses with long sleeves adorned their waif-thin bodies. However, the other one, Priscilla he recalled, had her auburn hair swept up and her green eyes lowered.

  By all accounts, Alex figured the mother was trying to marry off the oldest sister. Neither one appealed to him in the slightest. In fact, this whole business of plucking a bride out of a lineup made him ill.

  He longed for the evening to end. Glancing at the gold-faced mahogany grandfather clock across the room, he nearly groaned out loud. It would be hours before he could make his escape, he thought as he recalled the overheard conversation in the foyer a short while ago.

  It seemed like long, drawn-out hours of stony silence peppered with polite acceptable society inquiries. In reality, thankfully for Alex, it was only twenty minutes before he heard the maid outside the parlor door.

  “Now, honey, you go and be yourself.” Her cautionary tone held an unmistakable caring beneath it.

  “I intend to.”

  “No need to kowtow to Her Highness or her little entourage. They ain’t no better than you, you know? Never have been, never will be.”

  The light feminine chuckle that followed left a warm trail in his chest. Alex stood, to prepare for the last sister’s entrance or to shake off that sensation - he couldn’t be too certain. Either way, he wanted the night to end.

  The door clicked open. He found himself holding his breath.

  “Shoot,” the younger voice cried. “My shoes—”

  He caught a glimpse of the maid’s profile, waving a hand at the woman still out of his sight. “Scoot back up there and get them. I’ll hold the fort down by getting them to the dining room.”

  ***

  Entering the elegant emerald green dining room, Alex calculated the number of hours remaining. He groaned inwardly at the stilted, forced conversation to come. He reminded himself he’d done this a hundred times before and he could do this again. But his jaw ached with the effort to keep a pleasant smile on his face.

  “Ladies,” he began, ready to extol on the gleaming silver, sparkling Waterford crystal, gold-edged plates, and the overflowing flower centerpiece. He stopped short when he heard what he assumed was the footsteps of the last sister racing down the stairs.

  Alex turned just in time to see a whirlwind of red slide across the marble floor. The force hit him square in the chest.

  Chapter 2

  He let out a soft grunt.

  Instinctively, he reached out to hold her, protect her much smaller body. But she pulled away, taking away the warmth he’d experienced. A tantalizing scent lingered. Brushing the rich chestnut, shoulder-length hair out of her eyes, she met his surprised gaze. “Oops!”

  He smiled at her, holding back a bubble of laughter.

  If possible, her caramel-colored eyes twinkled and her lips stretched even more.

  Behind him, Mrs. King scolded her, “Really, Charlotte! Must you always make a scene?”

  It wasn’t really a question. Charlie winked at him. “Of course, Stepmother, how else can I have any fun?”

  “Charlotte King—”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She seemed to answer automatically like replaying a preprogrammed response used many times in the past. Her smile never faded and the mischievous way she rolled her eyes had Alex suppressing another chuckle.

  Charlie held out her hand to him. “Why, if it isn’t Prince Charming.”

  That was the last thing Alex expected her to say.

  Stunned for only a moment, he chuckled. He grasped her hand. He swore he heard a quick intake of breath from her at the contact. Soft, smooth skin with perfectly applied red nail polish, he noted. The touch sent a flood of warmth from his palm through his body. He never wanted to let go. “You, my lady, are the only one to dare say that to my face.”

  He noted the red wrap dress hugging her curves and a glimpse of her long legs peeking through the mid-thigh slit. Then he realized she was in stockinged feet. She held a pair of strappy red high heels in her other hand.

  “Charlie, is it?” He nodded to her shoes, asking, “May I help you with those?”

  She giggled. As Charlie slipped on the left shoe, and then did the same to the right one, she said, “No thanks, I can do it myself, Prince Charming.”

  “Well, if the shoe fits,” he teased her.

  “Very clever. But that’s only if a girl wants to be a Cinderella.”

  He laughed heartily. Charlie had clearly told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t need a prince, much less a man, to rescue her from anything. A spark of admiration lit in him.

  She was the first woman in years who didn’t see him as a great catch. How refreshing.

  Mrs. King cleared her throat in obvious disapproval.

  Turning to her family, Charlie nodded politely. “Stepmother, sisters.”

  Reluctantly, he followed suit. He encountered the flash of anger directed her way.

  “Charlotte, you are late.” Her stepmother’s pinched mouth barely moved. “Poor Francine and Priscilla have been entertaining our guest while you were lollygagging.”

  “I’m sure they enjoyed every minute of having Mr. Royale to themselves, isn’t that right, girls?” She brushed the accusation away with what seemed like practiced ease.

  In turn, each girl’s cheeks pinkened, making Alex think they looked much better now with some color.

  Another throat sound came out. Another reprimand, Alex sensed. He turned back to help Charlie be seated. She’d already moved to her place on the other side of the table from him.

  A stab of disappointment slashed through him. Surprised at it, he shook it off quickly, reminding himself how much he wanted to get this night over with.

  “She was with Dexter again,” Priscilla whispered loudly, uttering her first full sentence since Alex had arrived.

  “Dex,” Charlie corrected as she lifted her chin higher in defiance, but didn’t deny the accusation.

  His chest tightened. Who was Dex? Remembering his manners, Alex assisted Francine, who’d been assigned a seat beside his.

  “Thank you,” she murmured so softly that he’d thought it was just above a child’s whisper.

  He groaned inwardly, thinking this was the one they were trying to marry off to him. It was going to be a long night.

  ***

  From across the table, Charlotte watched in approval. He was a gentleman, though society tutored, but nonetheless a mannered one. That wo
uld be something the Barracuda and Francine would appreciate. Score one for Alexander Royale, she thought.

  He was a handsome devil though, better than any of the papers had ever been able to capture. Dark hair, dark eyes, tall, and muscular: she recalled the broad, solid chest she’d bumped into and the strong arms that instantly had wrapped around her. Heat, a sexy musky scent…and his hand, strong yet gentle…

  She brushed her fingers against her palm, still tingling from his touch.

  Her lips parted at the memory of being in his arms. A rush of warmth coursed through her body. She’d never been so affected by a man in her entire life, never mind one she’d just met and in less than ten seconds.

  Reluctantly, she pulled herself out of her reverie. She had a mission to accomplish: Get Francine married, and then she could save King’s Department Store. She owed it to her late father to bring back his beloved store from the brink of demise.

  Update and renovate, she’d often remind her stepmother when plunging sales reports littered Charlie’s desk at work. The store, and how to restore it to its former glory days, consumed her more and more these days.

  But now, gazing into Alexander Royale’s laughing dark eyes, she felt a genuine pang of regret. What would it feel like to be in love just once?

  Love and marriage weren’t in the cards for her, she reminded herself, not now when she could do so much for King’s Department Store. Maybe never. The store would always come first. She sighed heavily.

  An hour later, she’d run out of things to champion her stepsister’s cause. Charlie desperately searched for something, anything else to point out to him. “Oh, I almost forgot. How silly of me. Francine takes piano lessons. I’m sure you’d love to play something for Mr. Royale after dinner, Francie, wouldn’t you?”