Riches to Rags Bride / The Heiress's Baby. Myrna Mackenzie
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“I would like …”
“No,” he said, his voice like a silken knife as he cut her off. “Ms. Patchett, we both know that what you would like isn’t what’s going to decide your fate today.”
“My … fate?” The way he said it, as if he already had some sort of power over her when she’d walked in here of her own volition, made Genevieve feel ill. More alone than she already felt. Still, she’d been lucky that he’d granted her this audience, because the result of this interview would affect her a lot more than it would him. “Okay,” she agreed, waiting for him to go on. The urge to squirm under his insolent inspection was intense.
“Let’s make one thing clear. The only reason you’re here is that one of my employees just eloped to Australia and you’ve been recommended to me by Teresa March,” he said, although Genevieve already knew that. It was a sheer stroke of luck that Teresa had been in town visiting relatives and mentioned that Lucas, a man Teresa had once worked for, was in Chicago looking for an assistant just when Genevieve was starting to count her last pennies. Teresa hadn’t even hesitated. She’d insisted on trying to get Gen a job.
What should I say? Genevieve wondered. Should I say anything? Should I tell him how grateful I am to Teresa? Will that make me look too desperate? She didn’t know. Despite being twenty-six, this was all virgin territory for her. Debutantes didn’t have to worry about such things.
Go with your gut feelings, she thought, but doing that had made her trust Barry and enabled him to steal all her money and betray her, to hurt her. Still, Teresa might well have saved her life by getting her this interview. She deserved praise.
“Teresa is a saint,” she said, then blushed when Lucas lifted one eyebrow. Teresa had a well-known reputation as a fun-loving party girl even if she was a very intelligent party girl who never let her fun get in the way of work.
“Well, she’s not exactly a saint, but she’s really a very nice person, once you get to know her,” Genevieve corrected. “I … Of course you do know her and …”
Lucas’s expression told her nothing. He simply waited as she grew more flustered.
Genevieve wanted to clap her hand over her mouth. Why was she babbling? Lucas McDowell clearly didn’t consider her his dream candidate. Now, he was going to think that she had air for brains and send her away without a job!
“I’m incredibly grateful to her for getting this interview for me,” she concluded somewhat lamely, then immediately wondered if that comment made her sound too pathetically eager.
Giving her a quick but very thorough glance, one that made her feel as if he could read her thoughts and see right down to the pale pink stripe on her underwear, he casually scribbled something on a notepad. Genevieve’s heart started to pound more furiously than it already had been. She had a vision of herself spending her last dime and not knowing which way to turn or where to go.
“I’m sorry. I … Mr. McDowell, could we please start over?” she asked.
He put the pad down and came around the desk, leaning back against it and crossing his arms. Now he was close and so tall that Genevieve was forced to look up into those too perceptive eyes.
“Start over?”
“Yes. Like this. I’m Genevieve Patchett, I understand that you have a job to fill and I would very much like to be the person to do that job. I have references.” She pulled out the list Teresa had helped her compose and held it out. The fact that those references were mostly from people who might not yet have heard all the evil rumors Barry had spread about her made her feel guilty. She wanted to ask Lucas not to believe any gossip he heard about her, but Teresa had warned her not to. Still, it was difficult to keep her mouth shut. Dishonesty, even by omission, didn’t come naturally to her.
Lucas took the paper, his big hand just inches from hers. Her breath felt as if it was trapped in her chest as Lucas put the paper behind him on his desk without looking at it.
“You don’t want them?” Her voice came out too breathless.
“I don’t need them. I’ve already checked your background. I know all I need to know. If I hadn’t checked you out beforehand, you wouldn’t be here.”
“I see,” she said softly. But her mind was a whirl. What did he know? What had he heard? What hadn’t he heard?
For the first time, Lucas smiled slightly. He was a rough-hewn man, but even that hint of a smile transformed his face into something … mesmerizingly male and virile. And dangerous. Genevieve realized she was trying to push back farther in her chair before she stopped herself and years of lessons in posture kicked in. She sat up even straighter, raised her chin higher. Try to at least look confident and competent, she ordered herself.
“You don’t see,” he said. “But that’s not your fault. This job won’t be exactly like anything you’ve done before.”
She opened her mouth to tell him that she hadn’t ever had a job, then closed it. He’d said that he knew her background. If that was true, then he undoubtedly knew that. But maybe he wanted to test her honesty. She opened her mouth again, then shut it once more. Honesty could lose this for her. And then she’d starve and then …
“I—” She closed her eyes, prepared to do the right thing or at least hope that the words that came out of her mouth would be the right ones. It was still a matter of choosing truth over famine. A woman couldn’t eat truth for breakfast.
“You’ve never had a real job before, have you?” he asked, ending her dilemma.
A wave of nausea swept over her. She swallowed hard. “Does it matter?” Please say no. Please say no.
“I don’t know yet. It depends.”
Her heart started pounding. This must have been what walking a tightrope over a roiling river felt like. There were so many mistakes a person could make, and any one of them would land her in the water.
Genevieve took a deep, shaky breath, hoping that the man didn’t notice how nervous she was. “What—what does it depend on?”
“For starters, you don’t have a clue what this job even entails yet, do you?”
“Not really.” She hoped that it didn’t entail anything too revolting or something that was beyond her abilities. “What do you want me to do?”
“What I want if you suit, if I give you the job … well, let’s begin with a few questions about you.”
Exasperating man. He hadn’t answered her question and … oh, no, here came the tough part. Don’t ask me about the lies Barry spread about me, because I’ve already had too many people turn their backs on me because of that.
“What do you consider to be your talents?”
Uh-oh, this felt like one of those questions that could get her thrown out the door before the interview had even begun. “I …” Under less nerve-racking circumstances, I can make small talk, I know how to dress, how to choose a good wine, how to oversee servants. Somehow she doubted that any of those were going to be of any assistance here. “I’m not sure exactly what kind of talent you’re looking for,” she said, stalling and hoping he would give her a hint that she could build on.
“Not really an answer, is it?” he said, catching her in the act. “All right. I need someone who knows how to make things happen.”
Bad news, since the only things she’d made happen lately were bad things. She was not going to say that, she thought, feeling suddenly faint. Don’t keel over, she ordered herself. Just don’t.
“I’ve …” Her voice cracked. Somehow she managed to swallow, take a deep breath and start over. If she didn’t come up with a suitable answer now, if she didn’t sound convincing, she was going to lose this chance. Genevieve struggled to keep breathing normally. “I’ve—I’ve organized … events and managed guest