The Millionaire And The Glass Slipper

He shook his head, plowed his fingers through his hair. He really needed to focus here. He fully intended to get to know her stepsister. Even if Candace hadn’t seemed to be an excellent candidate for the hunt, Amy wasn’t at all the sort of sophisticated, worldly female that normally attracted him. The sort of woman who’d developed a certain cynicism about the opposite sex herself. When he entered the game, he preferred an equal playing field. The young woman he’d just spent the past hour with probably didn’t even know there were rules. One of which had always been that a woman not get too close.

It occurred to him, vaguely, that the way he’d played for years might need to change. For now, though, all he cared about was that he’d caught himself before he’d done anything foolish. Circumstances had pretty much thrown her into his arms was all. With his first priority being to save his position at HuntCom, he had more to worry about than a young woman who possessed far more insight about his feelings for his backup project than he was comfortable with.

Amy hurried past a curved, Plexiglas bus kiosk, her arms wrapped tightly around her bundle of envelopes as she glanced back over her shoulder. She saw no sign of Jared Taylor on the tree-lined sidewalk. As tall and imposing as he was, he would stand out in any crowd, but he’d already disappeared.

She could still almost feel the strength in his hands when he’d helped her to her feet back in the office—right after she’d plowed into him and scattered files at feet. Just as she could almost imagine that same warmth filling her whole body when he’d held her in the elevator—moments after she’d practically crawled inside his jacket when the elevator had lurched. When he’d let go of her, the way his broad brow furrowed had made it abundantly clear that he’d wondered what on God’s green earth he’d been doing. At least he’d been gentleman enough to pretend nothing unusual had happened while she’d rattled on about having had a bad day.

She turned the corner to the post office, trying to shake off the entire unsettling encounter. She just hoped he wouldn’t say anything about her to Candace. She especially hoped he didn’t let it slip that she’d mentioned having to take care of her grandmother or make a comment about her having had a less-than-stellar day. The last thing she needed was to give Jill’s admittedly beautiful, undeniably well-intentioned daughter any reason to caution her about maintaining professionalism with their clients, or to give her a pep talk about what she needed to do when things weren’t going right.

Candace’s solution for everything was either a new man or a shopping trip. While Amy loved to hit sales, the home where her grandma lived had raised its rates so her budget had become tighter than ever.

As for finding herself a man, she was beginning to think she might be in the home herself before that ever happened. It seemed as if every female she knew was married, engaged, involved or on the mend from a broken relationship and had sworn off for the duration. Candace always had a man in her life. She went out more in a month than Amy had in the past two years. It was just that Amy’s obligations to Jill, the agency and her grandma—and the fact that her frequent visits to Edna seemed to be a turnoff for some men—had kept her from getting beyond a few first dates and casual friendships. Then there was what Candace called her totally naive belief in happily-ever-after instead of happy-enough-for-now.

She’d always wanted the fairy tale. She wanted a man she loved who loved her back. She wanted family to be as important to him as it was to her. She wanted to have children with him, to share with him, to grow old with him. As long as she was thinking about it, it also would be nice if the guy made her feel what she’d so fleetingly experienced with Jared Taylor. Even the pleasant sensations she’d felt from a couple of the more charming frogs she’d kissed hadn’t touched her in as many ways as just being held by that man.

For now, though, she’d just take care of the mail, hurry to the printers to pick up the copies of the family photos she’d had made for Edna with the hope of jogging her failing memory—and promise herself that the next time she saw Jared Taylor, she wouldn’t let preoccupation with her personal concerns embarrass her again. It had been worry about her grandmother distracting her when she’d so unceremoniously plowed into him by the reception desk.

Unfortunately, a little over a week later, that same concern had just compounded itself. She just didn’t have time to deal with that worry at the moment. Fifteen minutes before he was to arrive for his preliminary presentation, she received a reply to her latest e-mail request for a routine credit check on their newest client. Like the other companies from which she’d requested information, this one claimed no credit, employment or academic history available on an architect named Jared Taylor.

Professionally, the man didn’t seem to exist.

Chapter Three

“You can’t find anything on Jared Taylor?”

“Not a thing,” Amy replied. She set a glass of water and two vitamin-C tablets on Candace’s desk blotter. Candace had buzzed her moments ago, announced that her throat felt scratchy and that she could not afford to come down with a cold, and asked Amy to bring her whatever was available to fend it off.

Grabbing the glass, she downed the tablets. “That doesn’t make any sense,” she insisted, the moment she’d swallowed. “The man said he’s been an architect for years. There has to be a record of him somewhere.”

The Taylor file was open in front of her. Watching Candace’s frown slip to the colorful logos the team would soon present, Amy picked up the empty glass herself.

Candace wore a new black suit today. She wore black well. With her pale hair brushing her shoulders, the contrast was stunning. So was the suit. The short jacket was fastened by half a dozen short, narrow gold chains. Small gold chains linked the buttons at the cuffs. Amy had noticed earlier that the new black sling-back heels she wore were embellished with gold-toned buckles. The look was polished, yet with just enough of an edge to make others take notice. With Jared Taylor on her schedule, she had clearly dressed to impress.

Amy was more interested in undoing the impression she was afraid she’d made on him. Determined to appear totally professional herself, she had chosen a black skirt to wear that morning, too, along with a tailored white silk, French-cuffed blouse that she never would have been able to afford had it not been on sale. She’d thought about wearing heels, only to ax the idea even as she’d reached for a pair of black flats. If she wore heels, not only would her feet be killing her by noon with all the running around she did in the course of a day, but everyone would want to know what the occasion was. Since the only other appointments that day were with a client and vendors who were frequently in and out of the office, Jared’s presence would be the logical conclusion to draw.

No one knew she’d been stuck in the elevator with him. No one knew she’d been stuck at all. When she’d returned that afternoon, everyone had been buzzing about the power having gone out. Everyone had also seemed to assume that she’d already left the building and missed all the excitement.

That was fine with her. Especially since the last thing she wanted now was for anyone to think that he had made any particular impression on her at all. Most especially since Candace had staked her claim. She’d heard her on the phone with one of her girlfriends only an hour ago. Candace had declined an invitation to lunch because she had an “extremely hot” new client coming in and wanted to keep the time-slot open in case he suggested doing lunch himself.

Though they tended to be polar opposites of each other in interests, tastes and temperament, Amy had always been a little in awe of Candace. What the woman wanted, the woman usually got.

Not, Amy mentally insisted, that she was all that interested in Jared herself. She’d admit that not a day had gone by that she hadn’t found herself reliving that hour in the elevator with him. Specifically, the moments when he’d held her and reminded her ever so briefly of the sense of security she so desperately missed. But mostly what she felt for him was a certain sympathy for whatever it was he was losing—or had lost—that had caused him to strike out on his own.

“I’m sure there’s a record somewhere, too,” Amy agreed. “I just need to know more about him to get it. Like I told you the other day, there are several Jared Taylors with various initials listed with Dun and Bradstreet, but none are architects. Same with the credit reporting companies,” she continued, only half-focused on the conversation. Needing to return a call, she glanced at her watch, took a step toward the door. “If you’ll get his full name and an address other than the post office box in Seattle that he gave us, I’ll probably have better luck.”

Pulling a small, compact mirror from her top drawer, Candace quickly checked her lipstick. “Will do. I’m not concerned about the agency getting paid,” she insisted. “We already have his retainer. I’ve just never gone into a preliminary presentation without more background information on a client. I think we’ve done a great job considering what we had to work with,” she concluded, confident as always. “I just wish we’d had more.” The compact snapped shut as she rose to pace. “Did you check international? Maybe nothing turned up here because he works out of the country.”

Obtaining background information on a client was standard operating procedure for the agency. Aside from making sure the client could pay his bills, information about a client’s business history, contacts and vendors could help better serve the client’s needs. That was why Amy had fully intended to research the international possibility yesterday. The day had totally gotten away from her, though. Jill had decided to have her living room furniture reupholstered while she attended a weeklong industry conference in Hawaii. It had taken Amy all day to get her organized, procure samples of the fabrics she’d ordered to make sure the bolt colors still blended with her carpeting, and get her to the airport for her six o’clock flight. First thing that morning, she’d had to let the men from the upholstery company in to pick up a sofa, two overstuffed chairs and an ottoman.

The agency was also still without a receptionist until Jill found the sort of young and attractive candidate she felt personified the agency’s progressive image—which meant Amy was doing her job and the receptionist’s, too. And would be until after Jill returned.

There’s no one I trust more to make sure everything will go smoothly, Amy remembered Jill telling her as the porter had unloaded luggage from Amy’s trunk. Sometimes I don’t know what Candace and I would do without you.

Amy had thought at the time that if she trusted her that much, she’d let her hire a new receptionist herself—at least a temporary one. But Jill didn’t feel that temps had a place on their tightly knit little team. In her defense, the woman did have a real knack for finding the right people for the job.

“I haven’t checked international on him yet. But I can’t imagine I’ll get anything more without a full name and address.”

Her own curiosity about the lack of information on Jared was on temporary hold. The bulk of her interest that morning was with the director of the care facility where her grandma lived. The woman had called wanting to talk to her about something “unfortunate,” just as Candace had buzzed for her the first time.

Amy’d barely had a chance to make sure that her grandmother hadn’t fallen or had been otherwise harmed before Candace had come out insisting that she needed her to fix the projector in the conference room ASAP for the Taylor presentation. That had been an hour ago and she’d been running ever since.

“Your notes in the file only indicate that his work is in Europe and Asia,” Amy reminded her. Both were rather large continents. “Which countries should I check?”

“I have no idea.” Nervous energy now had Jill’s daughter moving from her desk to the window and back again. “I know I asked where he was working, but the subject got changed somehow. I’ll ask him again when I see him.”

“Is that all, then?”

“Is the projector fixed?”

“The conference room is all ready for you.”

“Can you pick up my dry cleaning on your lunch hour?”

“Sure,” Amy murmured, too accustomed to such requests to consider the imposition on her personal time.

With a quick smile, Candace snatched her empty Kelton & Associates coffee mug and handed it to Amy to get it off her desk. “Oh, and when he gets here, give me a few minutes with him before you alert the rest of the team. I’ll buzz you when I’m ready for you to call everyone else.”

Holding the mug, Amy acknowledged the request with the lift of her chin, grabbed the water glass and headed into the hall. Another glance at her watch told her she had ten minutes before Jared Taylor’s appointment. In theory that gave her enough time to make her call to the director now.

“Hey, Amy.” Eric Burke, their electronic media director, strode toward her, five feet ten inches of faintly flamboyant creativity in navy worsted and cranberry cable knit.

“Hey, Eric.”

“Where are you going for lunch?”

“Martinotti’s.” It was closest to the cleaners.

He turned as they passed, still talking as he walked backward. “Bring me back a turkey on multigrain, everything but mayo?”

“No problem,” she assured him, now walking backward, too.

“By the way, love the schoolgirl look you’ve got going there.”

Schoolgirl? she thought. That was so not the image she’d had in mind for today. With a grimace she muttered, “Thanks.”

Savannah poked her head out of her office, her sharp wedge of cinnamon-red hair swinging. “You’re making a deli run?”

Amy barely noted the graphic artist’s hopeful expression before her backward progress was halted by hands on her upper arms. Amber Thuy, one of Savannah’s crew, stepped around her. “I’d love a salad, if you are. Which deli?”