Las Vegas: Scandals: Prince Charming for 1 Night

He took her hand in his over the table and gazed intently at her. “Trust me, no one will laugh. Not after I’m done with you.”

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“Ever see My Fair Lady?”

She gave him a withering smile and yanked back her hand. “Yeah, and look what happened to Eliza Doolittle at the horse race. I rest my case.”

He chuckled. “The difference being, you wouldn’t need to change a single thing. Just be yourself as you ask around after Darla. Say she’s disappeared and as her roommate, you’re worried about her.”

“I wouldn’t be lying. I am worried.”

“Good. Then you’ll do it.”

She pushed out a breath, still unconvinced. “What if my father shows up?”

“You leave Maximillian St. Giles to me. C’mon, Vera. Take a chance. Be Cinderella for a night. Hell, you’ve even got the perfect shoes.”

She laughed at his handsome, open face and charmingly amused smile. And felt herself weaken.

She shouldn’t.

God knew, she had no business even pretending to belong at a highbrow event like that. Let alone with a man like Conner Rothchild.

“You’re wrong about Darla,” she said. “If I go to that ball, it’s only for one reason. To prove my sister isn’t a criminal.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “It’s a deal.” He looked at her triumphantly. “So, when can we go shopping?”

Silk. Satin. Lace. Bamboo, for crying out loud. When had they started making clothes out of bamboo, anyway?

Vera had never felt so uncomfortable in her life. Not even the first time she’d gone onstage at that seedy titty bar five years ago and taken off every stitch in front of a pack of drooling men had she felt this vulnerable. At least onstage she was in control.

“Utterly stunning,” the duchesslike boutique owner said with a satisfied smile at her creation. Meaning the slinky, floor-length evening gown clinging to Vera’s every curve. “What do you think, Mr. Rothchild?”

He considered. “I think the neckline could be lower.”

“No way,” Vera muttered. “Any lower and you’d have to call it a waistline.”

“So charming,” the duchess cooed. “Your lady friend’s modesty becomes her, my dear.”

Get me out of here.

“Yes,” he deadpanned. “It’s one of my favorite things about her.”

“I’m standing right here, you know,” she said evenly, shooting him a warning glare.

“Well, which gown do you like best? The blue, the red, the gold or the white?” he asked with an unrepentant smile, motioning with a twirled finger for her to spin around one more time in the blue one she was wearing. She grudgingly obliged.

She’d tried on about a thousand different dresses over the past three hours at a dozen or more trendy boutiques before finding a designer Conner approved of, and he had narrowed it down to four choices. Vera hadn’t dared voice an opinion other than about the ones she didn’t care for, because she had no clue what was expected at the Lights of Las Vegas Charity Ball. Each event on the Vegas social calendar had its own dress code, known only to the city’s Chosen Ones. If you violated the Code, people knew and smirked at you behind your back. Or so she’d surmised from the stories of fashion faux pas Darla had come home telling with a superior air of glee.

“They’re all exquisite,” Vera said. And meant it. “And all far too expensive.” And meant that, too. The dresses in this store were so expensive they didn’t even have price tags. “You should donate the money to the charity instead.”

He signaled the boutique owner to give them a minute alone, then smiled at Vera indulgently. “I’ve already made out the check, and trust me, this wouldn’t even put a dent in it. Besides, I want my assistant to be the most stunning woman there.”

Assistant? Oka-ay.

“You wouldn’t deny me that satisfaction, would you?” he asked.

She ignored the deliberate hint his slight emphasis on the word that carried. “So I take it this isn’t a date,” she casually said.

“Definitely not. I’m paying you,” he said oh-so-reasonably. “I wouldn’t want there to be any…misinterpretations.”

Ha-ha. The man was hilarious. And transparent as glass.

“Good,” she said with a quick smile, not falling for the ploy. “Keeping it business is for the best.” Though that did make her stomach sink a little with disappointment. “And since this is on your dime, boss, you choose which gown you like best.”

“Very well. If you insist.”

He studied her again from head to toe, taking so long she was in danger of melting under his scrutiny. The man had a way of undressing her with those dreamy bedroom eyes that made her toes curl and her mouth go dry. Which was a pretty good trick, considering her profession.

“You are so incredibly beautiful,” he said at last and looked up with a funny little smile.

Surprise washed through her at the heartfelt compliment. “Thank you,” she said, flustered by the admiration lingering in his eyes as he continued to gaze at her. “For everything.” She went up on her tiptoes and gave him a soft kiss on the mouth. “You’re being so generous, I don’t know what to say.”

He smiled and kissed her back—a gentle, easy kiss. Then pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’ve said it. Thank you is plenty.”

“I really do feel like Cinderella getting ready for the ball.”

His smile went roguish. He brushed his knuckles down her bare arms, producing a shower of goose bumps. “So, if you’re Cinderella, who does that make me?”

He was so fishing. “My fairy godmother?” she suggested impishly.

He made a face. “Not exactly what I was going for.”

She grinned, her heart spinning in her chest. “I don’t recall reading anywhere that Cinderella was Prince Charming’s assistant.”

“And I don’t remember her being such a smart-aleck.” He tapped her on the end of the nose. “Get changed and I’ll settle up.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me which dress you chose?”

“Nope. It’ll be a surprise.”

“No fair.”

He winked. “Who said anything about fair?” Then he was gone from the dressing room.

She eased out a long breath to slow her fluttering heart. Who, indeed? Nothing was fair about this whole situation. Not Darla involving her in felony theft. Not having to go to this stupid ball and make a fool of herself. Certainly not the fact that she was falling hard and fast for Conner Rothchild, a man so breathtakingly wrong for her it defied all odds. Talk about a fairy tale! Too bad Cinderella was just a story. The kind that didn’t happen in real life.

She really had to make herself remember that. Because after Conner was finished with her, no longer needed her help to fulfill his obligations to the FBI, she knew darn well the magical bubble she’d been floating in would morph back into a pumpkin. It would leave her standing alone, right back where she’d always been. And the only glass slippers she’d be trying on would be on a stage along with a fake wedding dress.