Riches to Rags Bride

by Myrna Mackenzie

  “Sorry. No, although I admire the way you manipulated the situation and got people to buy things they would normally have thrown in the trash.”

  Genevieve sucked in a breath, but she didn’t deny the accusation of manipulation or the fact that the sketches were inferior. At least they were sticking to the subject of art and not discussing Lucas.

  Although Rita’s presence was a good reminder of how short-term Lucas’s relationships were. It was also a reminder that Gen had, by losing herself in his kisses, fallen into yet another bad mistake with a man. And not just any man, not some jerk like Barry, but Lucas, a man she respected and…okay, she liked him. A lot. Too much. Far too much.

  He would hate it if she fell for him.

  She also felt at a disadvantage with Rita, a woman who not only knew as much about art as Gen did, but also knew how foolish it was to think about Lucas in terms of the future.

  “Forgive me, but I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” she said, using the Lucas McDowell theory of bluffing one’s way through a difficult, demeaning situation. “I’m not sure what you want from me, since the only time you and I met, you were giving me advice about Lucas. That’s a conversation I’m not in the mood to continue.”

  Rita shrugged. “I can’t blame you for that, but you needn’t worry. I’m not interested in discussing Lucas or in trying to fight my way back into his good graces via you. Besides, I suspect that when things are over with Lucas, there’s no going back. When he leaves, he’s done.” She gave Genevieve a pointed look, as if offering advice. “Anyway, he and I are both attack dogs. If we spent too much time together, we’d kill each other.”

  Instantly, Genevieve’s hackles rose. Lucas had spent so much time learning how to keep his life on an even keel. That comment wasn’t fair. “Lucas wouldn’t attack. He has an iron will and he dislikes emotional scenes.”

  “Maybe, but when those people were giving you a hard time, he was straining at the leash, trying to keep from swooping in and decking someone.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “No,” Rita conceded. “He probably knew that losing control would be very bad for the outcome of this affair. That’s one man who understands good business practices inside and out.”

  It was much more complicated than that, but Genevieve kept silent. Lucas’s private reasons for his need for control weren’t open for discussion.

  “As to why I sought you out?” Rita shrugged. “I heard about this gathering, and I just wanted to see what all the buzz was about. Sorry about crashing your party.” Although she didn’t sound even vaguely repentant.

  “By the way, who made the glass castle people keep eyeing? It’s not your parents’ style. Is the artist anyone I’ve heard of?”

  Genevieve blinked. “I…no…I don’t think so.”

  “Ah.” Rita looked amused. “Was it you?”

  “Yes.” But Genevieve didn’t want to talk about it, remembering how her parents had criticized the piece’s childish garishness. Rita might not be nice, but her job was to know good art. So no matter how much Gen loved her embarrassing little castle, she wished she had left it at home. “The castle isn’t art. I’m just using it to hold down the loose sketches, which might have blown around otherwise.”

  “Hmm…good idea. And you’re right. It’s not art, even though it’s…interesting. I thought Harold Julette was going to lose an eyeball the way he had it pressed up to his face trying to see the detail inside. By the way, you could have gotten more money from Mr. Munion for the bird sketch. It’s not collection quality, but he’s a sucker for birds.”

  “Birds.”

  “Exactly. You can thank me next time you do business with him. Oh, well, gotta go. This little event was…instructional.”

  Gen was proud of what she had accomplished tonight, but she clearly wasn’t truly independent yet. An independent woman would have simply left things alone. No reason to take the bait.

  “What did you learn?” she asked Rita.

  “That you have a decent eye for art and bad judgment where men are concerned. Stick with the art, but I’d prefer you stay out of my territory, please.” She gave Genevieve a strained smile. And without another word, she left the room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  LUCAS CLOSED THE DOOR on the last volunteer. Then he turned to Genevieve, directing his full attention to her. And whenever Lucas directed his full attention to anything, he was a powerful force. Right now, he was looking at her like some fierce predator eyeing his prey. She gave him a tentative smile.

  “I think that went well, don’t you?” she asked. “Katy—one of the volunteers—told me that people were generous. She also told me that an inordinate number of the checks seemed to be scented with perfume. Hmm…you must have really charmed all those women, Lucas.”

  “Were there other women here tonight?” He advanced a step.

  Genevieve melted. She desperately wanted to walk up to him and crush her mouth to his, but…that would be such a stupid move. Losing control around Lucas was getting to be a problem. Time was flying, and like so many women before her, she’d soon revert to her “no Lucas” status. A smart, independent woman wouldn’t allow herself to even develop the craving, would she?

  No. “I can’t believe things turned out so well,” she said, managing a bright, platonic smile, “but we gave out all our brochures, the food seemed to be a hit and I know that the men liked discussing sports with you and…”

  “Genevieve?”

  She looked up. As she did, Lucas walked up to her, slid his hands around her waist and pulled her to him, stopping her words with a kiss. “You are an incredibly amazing woman.” He whispered the words against her lips. “I hope you know that.”

  What she knew was that he was simply high on the success of the evening, but with his body tight against hers and her lips tingling from his kiss, she felt pretty amazing.

  “I don’t want to be one of those annoying people who floats around gloating about their successes,” she said.

  He smiled against her lips. “Go ahead. Float. Gloat. You turned what had promised to be a less than stellar evening into something remarkable. Thank you.”

  “No. Thank you. From the first day you hired me, I didn’t think this would work, and I told you so repeatedly. If you hadn’t pushed me, tonight wouldn’t have happened. As it was, I had a perfect evening.”

  Lucas pulled back slightly. “Even Rita? She didn’t call you out about your parents’ art, but she seemed bent on testing you. Maybe I should have tossed her out instead of letting her confront you.”

  She shook her head. “No. I have to learn to deal with adversity.”

  “Did she insult you?” He scowled, his grip on her waist tightening slightly.

  “I’m not sure. She agreed that my paperweight wasn’t art, and she told me to stay out of her territory. It was the oddest thing.” But Genevieve looked up to find Lucas smiling. “What?”

  “Your paperweight is art, and she knows it. More people stopped to look at your glass castle than your parents’ sketches and sculptures tonight. I know, because every time I looked up, a different person was holding it. As an expert in the field, Rita wouldn’t have missed that. And if she’s warning you away from her territory, then she considers you a threat. I suspect that if you wanted to, you could make a career change from project planner to agent. She knows that, too.”

  Genevieve felt as if her head was spinning. “What an evening.”

  “Exactly. Let’s get you home before you lose your glass slipper, Cinderella.”

  But when the morning came, the problem that ensued was much greater than a missing glass slipper. Today was the day Genevieve was to begin interviews to find her eight residents. And one of last night’s guests had shown up at the door with a complaint about the piece he’d bought.

  There was chaos and confrontation at Angie’s House. It was far too much like moving back in time, to the day when she’d finally realized that her parents would never lov
e her. She wasn’t what they’d hoped and planned for when they’d decided to have a baby.

  Only this time the person complaining had decided that the Patchett sketch he’d bought was a fake.

  Lucas was pacing, pacing, pacing, ready to grab that guy and throttle him. The man wanted his money back, interfering with the business of Angie’s House and criticizing Genevieve. Lucas’s hands doubled up into fists and his mind replayed times in his rough teenage years when he’d fought his way into and out of trouble. The difference between then and now was that then he’d been defending himself.

  This was nothing like that, even though he was still a take-charge guy, a doer, a controller. You can’t just leave things like that, he told himself. She can’t be two places at once and this has to be resolved.

  And if he stepped in and did his usual head-down, forge-ahead, take-charge, controlling attitude with Gen, if he insisted on wresting some of her power from her, what then?

  She’d feel incompetent and assume he didn’t trust her.

  But if he did nothing and let her struggle with an impossible load, what then?

  Catastrophe. She’d feel as if she’d failed if things fell apart.

  Either way, she was going to feel awful. Both of them would lose no matter what he did or didn’t do. And he couldn’t leave things as they were. There was too much at stake.

  Walking to where she was standing in front of the red-faced man, Lucas felt as if he were on his way to a funeral. His. Hers. The funeral of those few special moments they’d shared.

  He stepped up beside her, got right between her and the red-faced guy yelling at her. What Lucas wanted to say was “Get away from Genevieve and shut up.” But that would have completely stolen Gen’s power, so what he ended up saying was “If you’ll excuse me for just a minute, I need to speak to my project manager.”

  The man puffed up. “I’m not done with her.”

  “Neither am I. This will just take a minute.”

  Frowning and blustering, the man didn’t say no. Lucas touched Genevieve’s arm, ignoring the powerful heat that ripped through him every time they touched. “This won’t take long,” he assured her, shepherding her into the nearest doorway.

  “I’m so sorry, Lucas,” she said as soon as they were inside. “Don’t worry. I’ll fix this. I can do it. And…I apologize for the timing. I know that Mindy is due to arrive at any minute and…”

  He placed two fingers over her lips, silencing her. Gently. Gently. “I know you can fix it, too,” he told her. “I do know that. That’s your part. All I need to know, all I want you to tell me is…what’s my part?”

  She blinked, suddenly silent, her beautiful green eyes huge as she stared at him. “I can’t ask you to do my work. This is my area. I don’t want to fall down on the job.”

  Lucas shook his head. “You won’t. Genevieve, everyone needs help sometime. I hired you to be the project manager of Angie’s House, because I can’t do everything. I can’t be in more than one place at a time. No one can. Not even an excellent project manager like you.

  “My point is, asking for help when you need it doesn’t make you less independent. It simply makes you smart. Someday you may have your own company or agency and you’ll need to delegate. Today, you just have me, so, Genevieve, would you let me help you?”

  He took his fingertips away from her mouth and she nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, of course. I can handle Mr. Healey. He’s just confused. Someone gave him some bad information and I can eventually set him straight, but…if you could meet Mindy, that would be so fantastic.”

  “Consider it done,” he said, as he turned to go.

  “Lucas?”

  He looked back at her. “Thank you,” she said.

  “I’m sure that Mindy won’t be a problem,” he assured her.

  “No, not that. I know you’ll make her feel like a queen. Thank you for trusting me.”

  “You earned it. Last night was proof that you’ve found your wings. You’re ready to fly alone.”

  And in two weeks, that would happen. Angie’s House was almost set to go. He’d received a call from France this morning. They already had meetings set up with the town authorities in order to begin work on his next store. In two weeks he and Genevieve would say their final farewells. Like every other woman he’d left behind, he’d probably never see her again.

  The thought nearly stole his breath even though it wasn’t anything he hadn’t known from the very start.

  He just hadn’t known Genevieve when this whole thing began. Somehow, he had the sinking feeling that she would be much more difficult to forget than anyone he’d ever met or left.

  Genevieve had taken the disgruntled customer to her office and finally managed to placate him. The man had barely left the room when Lucas walked in.

  Immediately, his gaze went to the broken glass on the floor. Crystal and gold.

  “What happened?” His voice was harsh. He looked as if he wanted to put his fist through a wall. Instead, he—very carefully—leaned against the door frame. “Genevieve?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not what it looks like. Neither of us threw anything.”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “I was thinking more along the lines of a scuffle resulting in some broken glass.”

  “You think I would let it come to that?”

  “Of course not, but I know from experience that sometimes other people impose their will. Unanticipated things happen. What did happen? Please,” he said, gentling his voice. “You look intact.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “Most people would say, you look fine, but yes I am intact. All in one piece. No harm done.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” He glanced down at the shattered glass. “You lost something you loved.”

  Genevieve shrugged. “Mr. Healey got it into his head that the sketch he bought last night wasn’t a true Patchett original.”

  “I hope you told him that you would know a Patchett original better than anyone.”

  Genevieve shuffled some papers on her desk. “He’d already heard something of my reputation. He wasn’t exactly impressed with my credentials.”

  The pencil Lucas was holding snapped. “Really?” he said, putting it down carefully, exercising that superb control he had mastered. “Really?” Then he looked down at the broken glass and swore, temporarily losing control. “I assume you set him straight, worked everything out and sent him away happy.”

  For that comment alone she would have loved him. He was clearly angry, the evidence here pointed to a situation that had ended badly and yet he still believed that she’d brought everything to a satisfactory conclusion.

  “I did. I bored him to death with a lesson on the Patchett signature complete with images, an excruciatingly long article my father had written and a video from experts who had studied the Patchett signature. Then I demonstrated the validity of his painting.”

  “Images, articles and a video?”

  “My parents were fanatics about the brand. They made sure everything was well documented. I put it all together for them myself. Anyway, Mr. Healey left here a happy and slightly embarrassed man.”

  “Did he break your castle?”

  “Not intentionally. He was banging on my desk and things were bouncing around. The castle fell off and hit the hardwood floor. It’s all right.”

  Now he rose. “You’re not all right. It was a wonderful piece and it meant something to you.”

  “It was just a bauble.”

  “That you kept even though you made it when you were ten.”

  “My parents thought it was trash. I kept it to irritate them.”

  He slowly shook his head.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “You told me that you were a well-behaved, complacent child. Something doesn’t fit.”

  He was right. She looked down at the sparkling broken bits of glass and said a sad internal goodbye to the piece she’d been moving from desk to desk for years. “Okay, maybe I’m a littl
e sentimental. I was so excited the day that I made it. My parents worked in various mediums—they painted and sculpted but glass was their forte. I had hoped that finally I might do something that would make their eyes light up, but instead they said that I was simply playing at being an artist. It was obvious that they were disappointed.”

  “Maybe they didn’t like the fact that your work might end up being more commercial than theirs.”

  Lucas’s voice was cold, but the mere fact that he was trying to make her feel better brought a small smile to her face. “Nice try. Have you forgotten that I know art?”

  “Not likely, but I’m taking a wild guess that you might not know the value of your own art, especially if your first efforts were shot down by pros like your parents. It would be tough to try again with critics like that. But I stand by my argument. I’m no art expert but I watched the guests at the party the other night. They were interested. If you hadn’t kept insisting that it was a valueless paperweight that wasn’t for sale, someone would have bought it.”

  She looked at him for a minute, just reveling in the sound of his voice and how indignant he was for her sake. “You’re such a nice man, Lucas.”

  “If I were a nice man, I would have stopped the guy from breaking your treasure.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You know how much I need to handle things on my own.”

  He growled.

  She smiled. “How did things go with Mindy? And…why are you back so soon? It must have been a short interview.”

  “It was. She called and when she found out that she was being interviewed by a man, she balked.”

  His tone betrayed nothing, but Genevieve’s heart hurt for him. He was doing all he could to make a safe place, but…

  “Will she let me interview her? Will she even be able to come live here if she fears men?”

  “I spoke to the charity that recommended her. We’re trying to get her into counseling and a more secluded safe place.” His voice was harsh, raw.

  “Lucas, you can’t save everyone.”