Cinderellie!

by Carol Grace

  Somehow she made blueberry pancakes that were light and fluffy and served them with homemade maple syrup and a rasher of bacon. She was a professional. After breakfast, the guests went to Silicon Valley to listen to the CEO of a successful company Jack's firm had funded.

  The house was quiet at last. While she sat in a kitchen chair and stared at the sinkful of pots and pans, the phone rang. It was May.

  "Well, Miss Social Butterfly, I can't believe you're in the newspaper today."

  "What? Where?"

  "Splashed all over the society page. Who do you think you are? You don't belong there. We do. You never would have met Jack Martin if it wasn't for Hostess Helpers. You're a cook. That's who you are," May said without waiting for an answer. "And that's all. Where did you get that dress?"

  "I…someone made it for me. How does it look?"

  "Well…it looked pretty good. Even mother said so. Did you say it was homemade? I thought you were working this week. This doesn't look like work. April and Mother and I had to do a whole dinner party by ourselves last night while you were out on the town. And you never even told us. We had to read about it in the paper. Mother wants you to come back right away. We need you."

  "I can't, May. It may not look like work to you, but it was just part of my job here. I had to fill in for someone who didn't show last night."

  "Oh, that must have been a real hardship. Going to the symphony gala in somebody else's dress. With somebody else's boyfriend. And being written up in the paper. Now everyone wants to know who you are. Who Jack Martin's latest flame is. As if."

  "No, they don't. No one cares who I am. That's ridiculous."

  "That's what it said. It said you were the mystery woman. How does it feel?"

  "It feels weird. Maybe I looked glamorous last night for once in my life, but life goes on and I was up at six today and I just made breakfast for twenty people. Does that sound glamorous? And now I have to start the preparations for lunch and dinner. They have high expectations and I'm getting paid. A lot. It's a lot of work, but it's just for one week. You'll have to get along without me for once. Is that so hard?"

  "It wouldn't be hard if everyone did their part," May said, "but last night Mother expected me to stay in the kitchen slaving away, doing your job, while she and April served. First I burned the rice, then I ground the coffee too fine so the filter didn't work and there were grounds in everyone's cup. It was awful. They threatened not to pay us. And by the way, I followed your recipe for veal cordon bleu but it didn't taste right. You must have forgotten to write down some secret ingredient."

  "Why would I do that? Here's my secret ingredient, May. It's tasting. About the veal…and any other recipe, you have to taste as you go along, and it really never turns out the same way twice. I'm sure your version was just as good as mine."

  "That's not what they said."

  Ellie sighed. So much for trying to pump up her stepsister. "Goodbye, May. I've got to get back to work."

  "You haven't heard the end of this," May said. "Mother won't take no for an answer. When she saw your picture in the paper, she was very upset."

  Ellie hung up, then ignored the mess in the kitchen to go in search of the morning newspaper. She walked through the quiet house, admiring the polished oak floors, the leaded windows and the solid, comfortable leather chairs and ottomans. Jack took all this for granted. He'd been raised with money. Raised without love, according to him, but with plenty of creature comforts. Not that she'd trade her early years with a loving mother and father, but Jack didn't seem to have missed much. Or had he?

  He had good taste, she had to admit that as she noted the seascape painting on the wall, so realistic that the boats in the scene seemed to be bobbing in a small bay. She checked the round mahogany table in the foyer, but there was no paper. The door to his office was open, and she glanced in. There was a Wall Street Journal on his desk, but no local paper. There were no pictures or mementos around except for a model sailboat that looked as if it had actually seen action. Was it Jack's? The man who'd had no childhood? Where did Jack, who was brought up in a sterile condominium, find to sail a toy boat?

  He must have had toys. One of those nannies had surely provided him with balls and blocks and maybe even a toy sailboat. Or maybe it was his father who'd given it to him. From what Ellie could tell, his father was very proud of him.

  But then, you never knew about other people's families. Look at hers.

  Chapter Six

  As if on cue, the phone on Jack's desk rang and after a brief hesitation, Ellie picked it up. Sure enough, it was for her.

  "What's going on there?" her stepmother asked.

  "Work. Work is what's going on," Ellie said. "I have three meals a day to prepare for a crowd of demanding eaters here with no help. I don't suppose you and the girls…?"

  "Are you out of your mind?" Gwen demanded. "We've got a full schedule. I don't know how you can even ask. We're just as busy as you are, if not more so."

  "Then you'll understand that I don't have time to chat right now, Gwen. Bye."

  Feeling proud of herself for standing up to Gwen, Ellie left Jack's office and went back to the kitchen.

  Ellie had just scanned the menu for the dinner and taken the prime rib from the subzero refrigerator when she remembered she had to give an account of the evening to Hannah and Clara.

  Hannah answered on the first ring. She'd already seen the picture and the article in the paper.

  "You looked beautiful," Hannah said. "Clara and I were thrilled. We cut out the picture and we have it on the refrigerator door. How was it?"

  "It was wonderful," Ellie said, and began to fill her in.

  "And Jack?" Hannah prompted. "Did he behave himself?"

  "Of course." Ellie didn't want to ask what that meant. It could mean anything from getting drunk and hanging from the chandelier to seducing Ellie on her front porch.

  "You looked stunning in the dress. Did Jack say anything?"

  "He wanted to know where I got it. He couldn't believe that your sister made it for me in one afternoon. I can't thank you and Clara enough."

  "Oh, yes, you can," Hannah said. "In fact, you already have. How's the dinner coming?"

  "I have the prime rib in the roasting pan. I'd better get busy with those duchess potatoes."

  "Let me know if I can help."

  Ellie put the conversation out of her mind while she chopped vegetables and sautéed mushrooms for the sauce. If she didn't concentrate on the food, she'd make mistakes. She couldn't afford to let her emotions get in the way of the food.

  It was important to put emotion into cooking, if it was the right kind. If it was love, all the better. If you didn't love the person you were cooking for, at least you could love the food itself or the act of cooking it. So she thought about Jack as she rolled out the pastry for a berry pie. She thought about the music last night, and the warmth of Jack's arm against hers as they shared the experience. And, just as she'd instructed May to do, she dipped her finger in the sugar-cinnamon mixture and tasted, and despite herself, thought about Jack even more.

  In Silicon Valley, Jack was thinking about Ellie. He was trying to concentrate on the lecture, but he'd already heard the same speech once before, and he wasn't in the mood to hear it again. So he sat in the back row and stared straight ahead, fixing his expression to one of rapt attention while his real attention was on his replacement cook.

  The images of her formed a kaleidoscope in his mind. Just when he thought he'd seen every facet of her—from casual to sophisticated, wearing a sexy dress or barefoot in the kitchen—she surprised him this morning by appearing tousled and looking as if she'd just gotten out of bed.

  Had he planned that? Was that why he'd gone to her place earlier than he'd said? Or had he just been too restless, too impatient to see her again? He didn't know. He only knew he'd been blown away by the sight of her at seven o'clock and that he'd had an almost uncontrollable desire to call in sick, forget about work and take her b
ack to bed. To roll around on the wrinkled sheets, making love to her and spending the day that way, with his cell phone turned off. He could just imagine what his colleagues would think if they knew. They'd never believe it. They'd think he was losing his mind. They might be right.

  He didn't even know how she felt about him. If he threw caution to the wind and seduced her, would she even go along with it? She'd probably look at him as if he were crazy for suggesting a day of hot steamy sex instead of a hot, steamy kitchen.

  But he'd been tempted. That's how far gone he was. On the busiest day of the busiest week of his life he was contemplating making love to his employee. How crazy was that? Yes, he must be losing his mind. That's what his father suggested when he'd called this morning.

  "Are you out of your mind?" Spencer had asked.

  "Taking your cook to the symphony. You're going to put ideas in her head."

  "What kind of ideas, Dad?" he said, clenching the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. "That she deserves a night out? That she's a beautiful, desirable woman who just happens to also be a superb cook? Let me tell you something. She didn't want to come. It was her night off. If it was up to her she would have spent the night at home with a good book. She was doing me a favor by going with me. I needed a date. She was good enough to help me out. I owe her big-time."

  "Of course you don't owe her anything. She was having a good time," his father said. "I could see that. It's too bad about the picture in the paper. Have you seen it?"

  "No, I haven't."

  "Well it gives the impression that you two are an item. And that's what the writer thinks, too. You've got to be careful, Jack. Women are not like us. They jump to conclusions. They make assumptions. We can't give them any ammunition. Also, everyone wants to know who she is. What do I say?"

  Say she's the most interesting and sexy woman I've met in a long time. Say I can't get her out of my mind. "I don't know. Say whatever you want."

  "'How does she feel about having her photo splashed all over town and the writer speculating that she's your latest squeeze?" his father asked.

  "I don't know. She hasn't even seen it as far as I know. And neither have I. She'd probably prefer her name not be linked with mine. Can you blame her?"

  "We're getting off the subject. What I'm trying to say is that I don't want you to make the same mistake I did. When I met your mother…"

  "Never mind, Dad." Jack didn't want to hear anymore about how his mother had deserted them.

  "Let me finish. When I met your mother, I fell head over heels in love. I thought she felt the same about me. I thought we were in it for the long haul, through thick and thin, richer or poorer…" His father's voice shook. Jack had never heard him get emotional about his marriage, about anything actually. He didn't know what to say.

  "I don't have to tell you that it didn't work out that way," Spencer continued. "She left me. Not that I completely blame her."

  What? Jack was shocked. His father actually taking some of the blame for the breakup?

  "I thought I'd never get over it," his father continued. "I thought I'd die from the pain. I'm only telling you this because I don't want you to get hurt the way I was. Don't ever let yourself fall in love like that. You think it will last. You think it will be forever, but there are no guarantees."

  "Dad, it was just one date. I'm not falling in love." But how did he know? How did he know what falling in love felt like? "Anyway, thanks for the advice. I'll…I'll keep it in mind."

  From the back row of the conference room, it was easy for Jack to sneak out without being noticed. In front of the building he bought a newspaper from a machine and quickly turned to the society column. Yes, there they were. He rocked back on his heels. She was dazzling. Seeing the photo made him feel as if he'd been slammed against the wall. Was that it? Was that what it felt like? It was almost the way he'd felt when she opened her door to him last night. Shock and surprise at the transformation, enough to take his breath away. And it was happening again just by looking at her picture in the paper.

  It was the dress. It was her smile. It was the memory of the touch of her skin and the taste of her lips. He wanted to see her, he wanted to touch and taste her again. But how? Not with a houseful of investors hanging around.

  He folded the paper in two, but not before he caught an ad for the Big Top Circus on the back page. For Children of All Ages, it said above a picture of a whole line of elephants parading around a ring.

  He walked up and down the street, with the paper jammed under his arm, thinking about elephants and peanuts and popcorn, thinking about Ellie, her childhood and her stepmother and her stepsisters, and then he turned and walked back to the building. In-side, he made a few phone calls and an announcement to the group before he headed back to his house.

  When he burst into the kitchen, Ellie was at the butcher block slicing potatoes.

  "Hold everything," he said.

  She dropped her knife. "What happened?"

  "There's been a change of plans. Can you save the dinner until tomorrow night?"

  She looked down at the pile of potatoes. "Sure, I guess so. Why?"

  "Something came up. The group has a chance to visit the tech museum tonight. Special guided tour just for them. So I made a reservation for them to have dinner at Grimaldi's in San Jose. That way they don't have to drive up here and back. Didn't make sense."

  "Does that mean I get the night off?"

  "In a way." He had to stifle his smile. He couldn't wait to see her expression when he told her what he had in mind.

  She studied him with narrowed eyes. "In what way?"

  "In the way that you don't have to cook. But that date you had with a good book? Not tonight."

  "Don't tell me you need a date again, because I'm not going to Grimaldi's."

  "Neither am I," he said.

  "But aren't you supposed to be showing them a good time?"

  "I don't always do what I'm supposed to do," he said. Oh, yes he did. He always did what he was supposed to do. But that was the old Jack. The new Jack was full of surprises. He surprised his father, he even surprised himself, and now he was going to surprise Ellie. "For example, I have two tickets to the circus tonight." He reached into his pocket and held them up in front of her.

  She braced her hands against the butcher block, her brown eyes wide with surprise. "What?"

  "You heard me. We're going to the circus tonight. Don't try to get out of it, because I'm paying your salary and your time is mine. Unless…it's not just for kids is it? They'll let us in, won't they?"

  "Sure, of course. But why? Why you? Why me? Why now?"

  "Because I've never been before, and you like the circus. I'm trying to make up for lost time. And I may never get another chance. So put the food away, Cinderella. Go home. I'll call a cab for you and I'll pick you up at six."

  She didn't say anything. She seemed to be stunned. But she dutifully wrapped up a chunk of meat and a pile of potatoes and stored them in the fridge. Then she took off her apron and hung it on a hook on the wall.

  "I'll take your silence as a yes," he said at last. Dammit, couldn't she show a little emotion, a little excitement? Did she have to act as if this was part of her job? Of course, maybe she'd gotten that idea from him. "This was your idea, you know, that I've missed something," he reminded her.

  "I know," she said. "I'm just trying to adjust. A few days ago I was stuck in a kitchen every night and most days, too. Not that I minded. I love what I do. But last night I went to a symphony and tonight I'm going to the circus. I'm just a little…confused." She reached for her sweater and ran her hand through her blond hair.

  "You're confused? How do you think I feel? Never mind. Don't answer that. Let's just say we're taking the night off. It doesn't happen that often, not for me, and apparently not for you. I can't even pretend that it's part of my job. I don't think it will do my career one bit of good to go to the circus, but…"

  She stood there waiting for him to finish
his sentence, but he didn't. He had no idea what he was going to say, if anything.

  "But it might be fun?" she suggested at last with a little smile.

  "It damn well better be fun," he said, grinning at her. "Because it might be the first and last time I do something spontaneous."

  Ellie had no trouble finding something to wear to the circus. A pair of jeans and a jacket would do fine.

  No fancy dress required. There would be no photographers there to take their pictures as they left the big tent. She told herself not to read too much into this rash decision of Jack's. She told herself not to read anything into it. She didn't understand him. She didn't need to. All she needed to do was to work for him for one week and get the money to start her restaurant.

  If she had a good time doing it, all the better. If he enjoyed her company, fine. Just so she didn't enjoy his too much. Just so she remembered who she was and who he was and that falling in love with your boss was never a good idea. Not that she'd ever fall in love with Jack Martin. Where did that idea come from? She barely knew him, and what she knew was so far from what she wanted in a man it was ridiculous.

  If she fell in love it would be with a family man. Someone who'd be there for her through thick and thin, to supply the support and the love. Of course she wanted passion, too. She wanted to be swept away. With all those requirements, no wonder she'd never found Mr. Right. He'd be someone who appreciated her for who she was, not Cinderella, not a scullery maid, either. Just her. Just Ellie. Someone who wouldn't forget her so fast when she was gone.

  She didn't want someone who'd never had a family or a childhood. She and Jack would make a terrible pair. Never mind. She was getting ahead of herself. This was a one-time thing. An evening at the circus. Tomorrow things would be back to normal. Ellie in the kitchen. Jack wherever it was he was supposed to be, attached to his cell phone. And soon she'd be busy with her restaurant and have no time for nights out at the symphony or the circus. Restaurant owners were on duty 24/7. Relax, she told herself.