Love Story Next Door!: Cinderella on His Doorstep / Mr Right, Next Door! / Soldier on Her Doorstep

Alex signaled the waiter. “Bring us your best house wine, s’il vous plait.”

“Oui, monsieur.”

When he’d come up with his idea to rent out the estate to film studios in order to make a lot of money fast, he hadn’t expected a Hollywood company featuring a legendary director like Jan Lofgren to take an interest this soon, if ever.

He’d only been advertising the château for six weeks. Not every film company wanted a place this run-down. To make it habitable, he’d had new tubs, showers, toilets and sinks installed in both the bathroom off the second floor vestibule and behind the kitchen.

Alex needed close access to the outside for himself and any workmen he hired, not to mention the film crews and actors. The ancient plumbing in both bathrooms had to be pulled out. He’d spent several days replacing corroded pipes with new ones that met modern code.

Since then, three different studios from Paris had already done some sequence shots along the river using the château in the background, but they were on limited budgets.

It would take several years of that kind of continual traffic to fatten his bank account to the amount he needed. By then the deadline for the taxes owing would have passed and he would forfeit the estate.

So far, at least fifty would-be investors ranging from locals to foreigners were dying to get their hands on it so they could turn it into a hotel. One of them included the attorney who’d sent out the letter, but Alex had no intention of letting his mother’s inheritance go if he could help it.

With the natural blonde beauty seated across from him, it was possible he could shorten the time span for that happening. There was hope yet. She hadn’t been turned off by what she’d seen or she wouldn’t be eating dinner with him now. Her father was a huge moneymaker for the producers. His films guaranteed a big budget. Alex was prepared to go out on a limb for her.

Dana Lofgren didn’t look older than twenty-two, twenty-three, yet age could be deceptive. She might be young, but being the director’s only child she’d grown up with him and knew him as no one else did or could. If she thought the estate had promise, her opinion would carry a lot of weight with him. Hopefully word of mouth would spread to other studios.

After spending all day every day clearing away tons of brush and debris built up around the château over four decades, her unexplained presence no matter how feminine or attractive, hadn’t helped his foul mood. That was before he realized she had a legitimate reason for looking around, even if she’d wandered in uninvited.

“How did you like your food?”

She lifted flame-blue eyes to him. With all that silky gold hair and a cupid mouth, she reminded him of a cherub, albeit a grown-up one radiating a sensuality of which she seemed totally unaware. “The chateaubriand was delicious.”

“That’s good. I’ve sampled all their entrées and can assure you the meals here will keep any film crew happy.”

His dinner companion wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “I can believe it. One could put on a lot of weight staying here for any length of time. It’s a good thing I’m not a film star.”

An underweight actress might look good in front of the camera, but Alex preferred a woman who looked healthy, like this one whose cheeks glowed a soft pink in the candlelight.

“No ambition in that department?”

“None.”

He believed her. “What are you, when you’re not helping your father?”

The bleak expression in her eyes didn’t match her low chuckle. “That’s a good question.”

“Let me rephrase it. What is it you do in your spare time?”

The waiter brought their crème brûlée to the table. She waited until he’d poured them more wine before answering Alex. “Nothing of report. I read and play around with cooking. Otherwise my father forgets to eat.”

“You live with him?”

Instead of answering him, she sipped the wine experimentally. Mmm…it was so sweet. She took a bite of custard from the ramekin, then drank more. He could tell she loved it. “This could become addicting.”

Alex enjoyed watching her savor her meal. “If I seemed to get too personal just now, it’s because the widowed grandfather I never knew threw my mother out of the château when she was about your age. Both of them died without ever seeing each other again.”

Her ringless fingers tightened around the stem of her wineglass. “Since my mother died of cancer five years ago, my father and I have gone the rounds many times, but it hasn’t come to that yet.” She took another sip. “The fact is, whether we’re at home or on location, which is most of the time, he needs a keeper.”

Amused by her last comment he said, “It’s nice to hear of a father-daughter relationship that works. You’re both fortunate.”

A subtle change fell over her. “Your mother’s story is very tragic. If you don’t mind my asking, what caused such a terrible breach?”

Maybe it was his imagination but she sounded sincere in wanting to know.

“Gaston Fleury lost his only son in war, causing both my grandparents to wallow in grief. When my grandmother died, he gave up living, even though he had a daughter who would have done anything for him. The more she tried to love him, the colder he became.

“Obviously he’d experienced some kind of mental breakdown because he turned inward, unable to love anyone. He forgot his daughter existed and became a total recluse, letting everything go including his household staff. When my mother tried to work with him, he told her to get out. He didn’t need anyone.”

In the telling, his dinner companion’s eyes developed a fine sheen. What was going on inside her?

“Horrified by the change in him, she made the decision to marry my father, who’d come to France on vacation. They moved to Queensland, Australia, where he was born.”

“Is your father still there?”

“No. He died in a fatal car accident seven months ago.”

She stirred restlessly. “You’ve been through a lot of grief.”

“It’s life, as you’ve found out.”

“Yes,” she murmured.

“My father’s animosity toward my grandfather was so great, he didn’t tell me the whole story until after mother died of an infection two years ago. Gaston never wrote or sent for her, so she never went back for a visit, not even after I was born. The pain would have been too great. It explained her lifelong sadness.”

Earnest eyes searched his. “Growing up you must have wondered,” she whispered.

He nodded. “To make a long story short, in May a letter meant for Mother fell into my hands. The attorney for the abandoned Belles Fleurs estate had been trying to find her. When I spoke with him personally he told me my grandfather had died in a government institution and was buried in an unmarked grave.”

She shook her head. “That’s awful.”

“Agreed. If she didn’t fly to France for a probate hearing, the property would be turned over to the government for years of back taxes owing. It consisted of a neglected château and grounds. I discovered very quickly the whole estate is half buried in vegetation like one of those Mayan temples in Central America.”

The corners of her mouth lifted. “A perfect simile.”

“However, something inside me couldn’t let it go without a fight. That meant I needed to make money in a hurry. So I came up with the idea of renting out the property to film studios.”

She eyed him frankly. “That was a brilliant move on your part for which my father will be ecstatic. You’re a very resourceful man. I hope your ad continues to bring you all the business you need in order to hold on to it.”

Dana Lofgren was a refreshing change from most women of his acquaintance who came on to him without provocation. While they’d eaten a meal together, she’d listened to him without giving away much about herself.

Alex couldn’t tell if it was a defense mechanism or simply the way she’d been born, but the fact remained she’d come as a pleasant surprise on many levels. He found he didn’t want the evening to end, but sensed she was ready to say good-night.

When he’d finished his wine, he put some bills on the table. “After your long flight and the drive from Paris, you have to be exhausted. What time would you like to come to the château tomorrow?”

“Early, if that’s all right with you. Maybe 8:00 a.m.?”