Riches to Rags Bride / The Heiress's Baby. Myrna Mackenzie
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moment, Lucas wanted to take back everything he’d said even though all of it was true.
But he didn’t. He waited, hoping for a positive outcome. Eventually, she took a deep, visible breath and pushed her shoulders back in that way he’d seen her do when she was facing adversity. She plastered on a resigned smile. A small smile. “So, you think moving here will help me do my job better. Are you sure you’re not just giving me an easy way out?”
He couldn’t help himself then. He dropped his head and groaned. Then he laughed. “Gen, do you call the conversation we just had taking the easy way out?”
When he looked up, she was smiling. “I guess it was pretty uncomfortable. But let me ask you this. Why do you care where I live?”
“Why does it matter where you live?” Man, there was the tough question. Lucas wondered if he even understood all the reasons why. And he had no intention of examining his motives too closely. There certainly wasn’t a chance in hell that he would tell Genevieve about waking up in the night. Or about Angie or any of the rest.
Letting her know that he’d lived in poverty? That was common knowledge. The fact that he had pulled himself out of the gutter and become a success was part of what engendered respect among his peers and the public. But sharing more? No. He never let anyone in on the more intimate details of his life, especially those from his past.
“Beyond the reasons I’ve already given you,” he said. “Let’s just say that I can’t have my employees getting hurt. And think how bad it would look for Angie’s House if anyone thought that I paid my project manager so poorly that she had to live in a place where she needed six locks on her door.” He finished with a smile, trying to somehow turn this into something light and teasing. Because now he knew how much she longed for independence and pride, a need he understood all too well.
Genevieve tilted her head. “You’re very good at getting your way, aren’t you?”
Her voice was wistful. He felt as if he’d just manhandled a defenseless kitten. “I don’t like unpredictable situations, especially when they pertain to work,” he admitted.
“And this is work.” Her tone was questioning.
“Yes.” He wouldn’t let it be anything else.
“You’ll let me pay rent.”
“No.” Not when he was practically forcing her into this transition. Not when he needed her to make this change as much as she needed it.
But he could see she was going to object. “It’s work, remember?” he said. “Part of your job.”
She still didn’t look totally convinced, but finally she nodded. “Well, then. All right, Lucas. I’ll live in Angie’s House and I’ll try to make use of the extra hours I’ll be there to get more done.”
Lucas scowled at that. He controlled things but he didn’t overwork his employees. “Overtime isn’t necessary.”
Genevieve had a trapped look in her eyes. Her slender body trembled and she licked her lips nervously. Finally, she closed her eyes, then looked to the side, lifting her chin a bit imperiously. “I would like to ask you to reconsider that point at least. If I’m your project manager and my staying here is to set the reputation of Angie’s House and bring attention to it, then I should have some say in how things proceed, shouldn’t I? The goal of Angie’s House is to reenergize the spirit of the women who live here, you told me. So, as the first inhabitant … I would very much like to either pay rent or work overtime in order to feel that I am truly contributing and so that my spirit will be reenergized.”
She never raised her voice, but it was clear that if he said no, she would feel as if he didn’t value her service. And after the heavy-handed method he had used to get her to agree to this change …
Lucas swore beneath his breath. Okay, she had him over a barrel. He could push the issue, but … she was clearly a woman who had been misused, whose ego had been trampled. And he had sworn he’d never damage a fragile female again. It was another reason why he only dated women like Rita, women who were just as cold and calculating as he was.
Genevieve was nothing like Rita. She wasn’t cold enough, hard enough or experienced enough. In fact, he should never have hired her, but … letting her go would certainly damage her. She’d be out on the streets with nowhere to go. Now that he fully understood that …
“A little overtime would be all right,” he conceded. Because in the end he had gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? She would be safe. That meant he wouldn’t have to think about her anymore. From that moment on, the two of them would only be about the job.
But hours later he realized that moving her hadn’t totally solved the Genevieve problem. Vulnerable green eyes crept into his thoughts. He knew why, too. He owned Angie’s House. And even though he was staying in a high-rent hotel all the way across town, the truth was that Genevieve was now living, breathing and sleeping beneath his roof.
Right now she was probably lying in bed.
Lucas groaned. He tried not to think about Genevieve’s beautiful copper-colored hair spread out across a pillow or those long bare legs….
“Stop it. Don’t go there. Just … speed this up. Let’s get this done—finished—so you can walk away as you always do,” he whispered. It was a good plan. Two months from now, Genevieve Patchett would no doubt be back making the debutante rounds, and he would be far away. She would barely be a blip in his memory base.
Which was … excellent, because if this heat and temptation kept building, he would be kissing Genevieve’s pretty pink lips any day now.
And that would be the worst kind of mistake.
But it wasn’t going to happen. Order had been restored to his life. His solitary journey could continue.
He could finally get Genevieve out of his thoughts, couldn’t he?
CHAPTER FIVE
THE DAY AFTER GENEVIEVE moved in, she tried to throw herself into work, opting to paint one of the bedrooms herself, even though Thomas and Jorge were better painters. She needed activity. Not just planning. She needed to immerse herself in something purely physical, so that she wouldn’t have time to think. Because the truth was that already she was having trouble adapting to living in Angie’s House.
She knew why, too. This place was very nice. It was quiet and safe and even a bit lovely now that the decorating was beginning to take shape. But she just couldn’t seem to forget that Lucas owned this house. Living here, eating and sleeping and dreaming here … it all felt too physical, and she’d already discovered that she was very susceptible to Lucas’s touch. She couldn’t be thinking about him all the time or risk getting close to him.
Which was a ridiculous thing to worry about. He wasn’t about to let an employee get close. In truth, she knew very little about the man. She knew that he was rich, she’d searched around online and discovered that he had other philanthropic projects he was involved in besides this one. He provided free sporting goods to inner-city schools, he sponsored summer camps for poor children. What she didn’t know about him was anything … personal.
Except that for some reason he had decided to do more than give money to charity this time. He was personally involved in this charitable venture. Sometimes when he spoke about women who had terrible, frightening lives, a fleeting look of something, maybe anguish, came into his eyes. She’d seen it but she didn’t understand it at all.
Then, too, this place was called Angie’s House. Had there been an Angie or was it just a convenient moniker? And if there had been an Angie, had he been in love with her? Had he—
“Genevieve?” Lucas’s deep voice sounded behind her.
Genevieve jumped. She dropped the paintbrush onto the drop cloth, splattering blue paint, then rushed to pick it up, trying to hide her blush and her embarrassment.
“I’m