The Cinderella Project (A Comedy of Love, #1) (9 page)

She shook her head. “That’s being a bit harsh. I’ve met some of the chairs and they’re not all terrible.”

“Maybe I just got lucky.” I only managed half a grin. “Well, again, good luck all the same. I hope you get your money. I know you deserve it if anyone does.”

A rising murmur from the crowd interrupted my thoughts. Moiré and I glanced over, curious. I realized at once what was happening. A dozen red roses on the table. A bottle of something bubbly and expensive. A guy positioning himself on one knee in front of a girl who looked like she’d just been told it was her turn to leap from the aircraft. His face was plastered with that “I-really-hope-she-says-yes-because-I-already-bought-the-ring,” look. “Start taking notes,” I whispered.

Moiré nodded, already one step ahead of me. Her countenance radiated that, “Oh my gosh, this is so great!” light that women get during moments like this.

Like a flock of birds that flies in subconscious coordination, the whole room quieted as the guy dug into the pocket of his suit coat. In a blink, I was a few months in the past. Ella was there on that bench in the garden spot on campus. She had the moon as her halo and the stars in her eyes. We hadn’t known each other long enough for me to know how she liked her toast, but my heart was compelled by a sense of, well, destiny in a way that defied logic. I just
knew
I wanted to marry her.

There I was, lifting the little velvet box, opening it with anticipation. She was smiling. So close! I called her by name and asked that timeless question, “Will you marry me?” Without warning, I realized I was staring at Moiré.

“I’m sorry, Andrew,” I heard. Wait… Andrew? Who? That wasn’t a voice I knew.

Then I was back in the present, gasping with the rest of the room. Moiré’s hand found my shoulder, but I forced myself to ignore it, instead re-focusing on the unfolding drama.

“W-what?” the guy asked. He was starting to shake. “You’re sorry for… for what?”

The girl wore her pain openly. “Andrew, I’m sorry, but… this… all these people?”

He just knelt there, jaw on the floor.

“I’m sorry, Andrew,” she said a final time before hurrying out of the room.

Three, stretched seconds of silence and then he was off after her. “Amanda! Wait!”

The whole room gawked like idiots, watching his dash for the door. When he was gone, the silence lingered just long enough to come to a boil. Thereupon erupted a hundred hurried whispers.

“That poor thing,” Moiré said, turning a shocked but sympathetic expression my way.

I nodded. “Yeah. I feel his pain. It’s like a kick in the crotch.”

Moiré’s eye showed surprise, but she smiled. “I’ll take your word on that, but I was talking about her.”

“Oh. Right.”

Moiré sighed. “But yes, I feel bad for him, too. It’s so hard to come that close to love, only to be blindsided by losing it.” She gazed off at the mountains, a strange sense of longing in her eyes. There was something more behind her words.

“You’re telling me.” There was more behind my words too. We were both gracious enough not to ask.

I stole another glance at Moiré. The memory of proposing to Ella played through my mind once more. This time, though, my stupid brain pasted Moiré’s face right over Ella’s. I stopped myself. I didn’t want to even
think
something unfaithful.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m going to hit the men’s room real quick.”

I reached for the napkin on my lap, wiped my mouth and stood. As I dropped my napkin behind me, my hand clipped the top of my water glass. It poured its guts all over the table. Instant-fix mode kicked in.

Grab for my glass.

Get foot tangled in chair.

Fall on my own dinner.

Watch a second glass make a quick dive for the floor.

Involuntarily (ahem) dive after the glass.

Yank the tablecloth halfway off the table while Moiré yelps again in surprise.

It was like living out a really bad screenplay designed to erase a man’s dignity in four seconds flat.

The restaurant patrons paused for a moment of silence to honor my fallen ego, before breaking into half-muted chuckles. Moiré was hiding her laughter behind her napkin and part of me wanted to go hide somewhere. Life had taught me differently, though.

“Thank you, folks,” I said, bowing in my most overblown fashion. “I’m here ’til six. I’ll sign your five-by-eight glossies if you’ve got them.” And with that, I walked away to the men’s room with the swagger of a peacock during mating season.

When I returned to the table, my blood went cold at the sight of a manager who was assisting Moiré in clean up.

How could I forget that
she
worked here?

Vera was flopping my dead ravioli into a limp bag that probably held the rest of my little catastrophe. Moiré was busy wiping water up with one hand, while straightening the tablecloth with her other. They were chatting happily, as if they knew each other.

I groaned and paced. The best option now was to just wait this out and let Vera walk away. Ella would flay me alive if she even caught a whiff of me being at dinner with another girl. She never understood the fact that my research involved such things, nor did she seem to comprehend that dinner does
not
equal a date, let alone a proposal of marriage. I scooted quickly back around the corner to the hall for the restrooms and waited. When Vera was out of sight, I waited a few more ticks and then sauntered back to my table. I got a few glances and giggles, but for the most part, the moment had past and people went about dinner as usual.

“Welcome back, Doctor Cairn.”

“Thanks.” I smiled. “I just had to wash up after surgery.”

Moiré frowned. “Well, Doctor, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but… the ravioli didn’t survive the operation.”

I flipped my smile. “Joy. Time to find a lawyer.”

A new voice chimed in. “Oh, hey, Nick.”

Vera. Please no.

Faking a sudden interest in what was left of my water, I greeted Vera. “Sorry about the mess.”

Vera’s smile came through in her voice. “No problem. We got it on film; that totally made up for the spill. One of the bus boys was quick enough to get his phone camera out for that, um, proposal thing and I guess it was still running when you decided to put on your own show.” She giggled. “We’ll be laughing about this for a while.”

I whirled on Vera, “Don’t you
dare
post that to YouTube!”

Vera started, “Okay, Nick. I didn’t think you were that sensitive about it. I mean, I could tell Greg to just blur your face out.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry, Vera. I just don’t want to… upset… anyone who might see that video. You know… um… appearances and, ah, humiliation and all that.”

Vera’s eyes flitted from me to Moiré and back again and her eyebrows lifted with understanding. “Ah. Gotcha,” she said and made a little zipping motion across her lips. “Trust me, I know what you mean.”

I exhaled relief. “Thanks, Vera.”

She patted my shoulder. “So how do you know Moiré?”

My eyes came up. “You know Moiré?”

Vera’s mouth opened, but she looked past me and a strange look crossed her face, followed by something resembling comprehension. She fumbled over a couple of words. I glanced back at Moiré who was sitting there nonchalantly, obviously waiting for an answer. My “suspicious meter” chirped, but I let it go.

“Moiré and I have a… mutual acquaintance,” Vera drawled. “Friend of a friend thing.”

“Ah.” She was going to keep my secret, so I wouldn’t press her about hers.

“Anyway, I’ll have a new bowl of ravioli brought out in a minute. It’s on the house. Enjoy your dinner! I’ll see you later!”

We waved in parting and Vera was gone. Bullet dodged.

Moiré touched my arm. “I’ll keep your dirty little secrets safe too, Doctor.”

That’s right—Moiré had seen the whole thing. And she knew Vera. The odds that this whole evening would blow up in my face were far higher than I was comfortable with. The girls had given me promises; I’d have to trust that was enough. Then again…
.

“Not good enough. I need a blood oath,” I said, pasting on my “deathly serious” look. “You’ll need to give me your first child.”

Bemused, surprise played across her face. “Well, Doctor, I wasn’t taking applicants, but I suppose you’re not sufficiently hideous to turn away without consideration.”

She couldn’t have stopped me any better with a Taser.

“But you know, that’s moving a bit fast for a first, excuse me, third date, isn’t it?”

This chick needed to do Hollywood.

“Suddenly, I’m not so hungry anymore,” I said. “We can get you some dessert if you want it.”

She smiled. “No thanks. I can pick up a tiramisu any time. We should probably give you the chance to properly clean up. I don’t think we’re going to get too many more notes tonight.”

She was right.

“Well, Nick,” she said, her hair brushing my cheek as she leaned in, “thanks. This has been really fun, even if it got cut short. Our next excursion has some big shoes to fill.” I held my breath. This was the part where the girl gives the guy a peck on the cheek.

Only she didn’t.

She got up. “I’m going to freshen up real quick while they’re bringing your ravioli out. I’ll just be a sec.” As she walked away, I noticed that my heartbeat was oddly synchronized with the sound of her footfall.

My food arrived before Moiré returned. I had it boxed, picked up the check and left a hefty tip. The business done, we made our way out into the simmering sunset. I walked her back to her car. She smiled and waved as she pulled away. I made a beeline to my Datsun and didn’t look back. I climbed behind the wheel, shaking. I tried over and over to convince myself that I had
not
just taken my research assistant on a date. But why did it take me five minutes to get her face out of my mind enough that I could drive home? It occurred to me that, for the good of my future marriage, I might just have to fire her. But I knew that I could never do it. I needed Moiré around.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Nick? C’mere. I’ve got something to show you.”

“What is it?”

“Take a look at this baby.”

“Wow! You actually bought the shotgun?”

“I call it the ‘Buck Tamer.’”

“So when are we going to take it hunting?”

“Might be Friday night.”

“Dad
, it’s not hunting season.”

“Not if this Carl What’s-his-whosit brings your sister home on time.”

“Um… Dad? Isn’t that a little over the top?”

“Nope. I was thinking more ‘below the belt.’”

Though firing Moiré was not an option I’d consider, I “excused” her for the following week with the promise of full pay. I can’t recall the lame excuse I made up to deflect her concern, but if she was skeptical about the move, she was polite enough not to show it. The week passed in a strange, blurred silence, broken only by time spent with Ella. I wondered how I had gotten along for an entire year without a research assistant. Tests on volunteers still got done. Review and revisions still happened. But all my efforts seemed somehow… empty, as if they no longer meant anything if they weren’t being shared with someone. I tried hyping my work to some of the other grad students, but all I got were fake smiles and courteous dodges; they were all too wrapped up in their own stuff to care and I can’t say I blame them. By week’s end, my only tie to sanity was the brewing excitement for the Department’s formal dinner.

Friday night, Vera invited me in when I arrived and said I could wait on the couch while Ella finished putting on her war paint (Vera’s words). I thanked her and sat, curious to see what my lovely fiancé would cook up this time. I have to admit, Ella made for very good mental pictures.

Eventually, I heard the two girls talking on the stairs and a moment later, Vera came into the living room. I gave her a quick, pleading look and her eyes reassured me she wasn’t going to rat me out over my research dinner.

She mimed trumpeting and said, “Will the ladies and gents please welcome their princess, Ella Abel.”

I stood and watched Ella descend the stairs. My breath caught when I saw her perfect eyes and that radiant smile. Her hair framed her face perfectly.

The dress, at least at first, took my excitement up a notch. Ella didn’t believe in
semi
-formal. The gown was midnight blue—my personal favorite—and had a hint of glitter that caught the light just right. It was tight enough that it may as well have been painted on, though and the slits on the sides of her dress came a little too far up her thigh for my comfort.

The back of her dress started just above her waist and the neckline dropped lower than the snazzy, gold pendant dangling directly over her heart. That got my face hot. Normally, a guy wouldn’t mind that kind of a view, but she was practically begging to be ogled. I felt as outclassed as a bicycle racing a Corvette—I hadn’t even bothered to wear a good tie. I wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“Breathe, Nicky. It’s okay to do that.”

I breathed, still stunned.

“Well, then, if you don’t have a compliment for your lady,” Ella began, her eyes mischievous, “perhaps I should just be on my way.”

“Whoa. No, wait.” I stepped over to her and wrapped my arms around her waist. “You… are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

Ella played coy. “You’re just saying that.”

“No. No, I’m not. Wow. Suddenly I’m not so hungry. Maybe we could just skip dinner and stay here while I look at you.”

Ella giggled and swatted me. I made to kiss her, but she instantly had a pair of fingers on my lips. “Not now, Nicholas. I’m not about to let you kiss this makeup off.”

“Right. Sorry about that.” I held her at arm’s length and gave her another long, appreciative look. She ate it up. “Well,” I said, pulling her close again, “shall we be off?”

“Lead the way, my prince.”

Ella knew how to make an entrance; that was for sure. She’d been stunning enough when I picked her up at her apartment, but to watch her just work a crowd like that was amazing. We walked in late enough to be fashionable and Ella just “happened” to pose—disguising it as a perfectly understandable pause. She didn’t make any noise, didn’t wave her arms around, or anything. She sauntered lightly in, almost as if she were dancing and she was just…
there
.

And everyone seemed to know it all at once.

Amid the crowd of onlookers, I asked Ella to choose our seats. She scanned the room for a moment and then nodded at a table near the dance floor. I took her hand, led her there and seated her the same way I’d seated Moiré a week before. Another couple was already sitting, testing the salads. I didn’t recognize either of them, but I noted that the guy looked like he’d escaped from a ’90’s boy band. The words “commercially handsome” seemed applicable. I stuck my hand out to him, anyway.

“Nick Cairn,” I said. “Clinical Psychology.”

He returned a lopsided grin. “Hunter. I’ll be a
real
doctor.”

I faked a rim-shot. Ella blinked. Jamie covered a snicker. Hunter glared.

“How far along are you, Hunter?” I asked.

“Last six months of my residency.”

“Cool. Which field?”

“Neurosurgery.”

Wow. A heavy hitter. “Neurosurgery, huh?”

He grinned evilly. “Yeah. I get to go back in and re-wire their brains after you psychos screw ’em up and bill ’em for it.” He laughed again.

I decided not to play his game. Jerks like this could really only win if you let them get under your skin.

“Well that’s great, Hunter. Neurosurgery. That begs the question, then: how’d you end up at a Psych Department dinner?”

He laughed at that. “Connections, man, connections. Med school isn’t cheap; free dinners are.”

“I see.” I decided not to ask further, but instead shook hands with the petite brunette seated next to him.

“Jamie Ambrose,” she said.

“Nick Cairn.” From the corner of my eye, I noticed Hunter baldly examining Ella. “And this is my
fiancée
,” I added quickly, “Cindy Ella Abel, though she prefers Ella.”

“A pleasure to meet both of you,” Ella said smoothly, rising and graciously shaking their hands in turn. She flashed a full smile at Hunter. Hunter’s answering smile was
broad, the glint in his eye more than a little suggestive.

“Well,” I said, hastily, “
ever hear the one about the lawyer, the engineer and the psychologist?” They hadn’t, so I told them. It was enough of a distraction to break the awkward moment, but Hunter was admiring Ella again before I’d even finished the punchline. Small talk suddenly became rather strained for me, but I’d been in awkward situations before. I managed to keep my cool while we waited for the food, but Hunter’s antics were quickly killing my appetite. I alternated between talking to Hunter and talking to Jamie, trying to keep Hunter’s thoughts off Ella. Ella was her usual, charming-in-public self and had the other couple laughing heartily before we had even finished our salads.

“So, Nick,” Hunter said as he took a sip of his drink, “are you writing a paper or doing a project?”

Ella jumped in ahead of me. “Oh, yes. Nicky is doing his dissertation of romance and responses to
stimuli
. It’ll be the most groundbreaking dissertation in the world and I think it’s
so
much classier than the rest of the stuff the psychos write.”

Since when had Ella started referring to people in my field as “psychos”? I pursed my lips as Hunter laughed at her joke.

“She’s exaggerating, like any good fiancée would, of course.” I took a gulp of water to help clear my throat. “In fact, what I’m doing is pretty mundane. But since it has to do with brain scans, it’s probably right up your alley, Hunter.”

“
You
know how to read an electroencephalograph?” he asked, somewhat incredulously. “You know, the word for the little squiggly lines produced by a ‘brain scan’?” He made the little “air quotes” gesture. I avoided the temptation to clench my teeth and I forced my hands to loosen.

“Just enough to be dangerous,” I said, tossing a wink at him, just to throw him off. It worked and he seemed perturbed that both Ella and Jamie seemed to enjoy the quip. The look on his face told me the game was on, now. I gladly obliged.

The main course arrived and Hunter and I both dug into the steak with vigor. I speared a bite I’d carved off and then followed up with a moderate helping of mashed potatoes; no need to look like a pig. Make up for quantity with speed, right? Hunter countered by forking in an impressive number of peas and carrots in a single bite and then getting
both
some steak
and
potatoes in just moments later. We continued to devour our food, sneaking furtive, suspicious glances at each other until before I knew it, I was out of food. I swallowed my last bite and as I was getting a drink, I noticed Hunter glowering; he hadn’t finished his carrots. I mostly hid a grin as I leaned back in my chair and placed a hand very definitely around Ella’s shoulders.

“Hungry much, Hunter?” Jamie asked, glancing up as he hurriedly shoved the last few carrots down the hatch. Jamie looked over at me, and her eyebrows went up as she noticed my clean, shiny plate and empty glass. Her plate was still over half full. Ella had barely finished her veggies.

“I didn’t get lunch,” Hunter murmured. He was a terrible liar.

“How is your dinner, Ella?” I asked, not taking my eyes off Neuro-boy. I could tell my gaze was bugging him, but I knew it was keeping his eyes on me, instead of on my girl.

She swallowed daintily, wiped her mouth and smiled cheerfully at me. “It’s
wonderful
, Nicky. Thank you
so
much for bringing me.”

“Hey, what’s a fiancé,” I emphasized the word just enough to make it noticeable, “for, if not to take care of
his
woman?”

Hunter’s face barely registered the hit, but I knew I’d scored anyway. It was beginning to dawn on me why the males of many animal species fought so fiercely for dominance over other males: It wasn’t just to win the females; it was, in its own way, rather gratifying.

“So, Jamie,” I asked casually, “how long have you and Hunter, here, been dating.”

“We’re not dating,” Hunter said, just a little too abruptly. Ella’s eyes widened a little—in surprise at his rudeness, I told myself—and Jamie gasped.

“I mean, this is just, like, a friendly date, really. Jamie got invited, and since she was supposed to bring a date…,” he trailed off with a shrug.

Jamie’s skill at cloaking her anger was impressive, despite her visible wince. I wasn’t sure I’d heard a man package so many insults into so few words in quite some time. If it weren’t for the fact that it made him look like even more of a jerk, I might actually congratulate him for his eloquence.

Just then, the emcee for the evening stepped up to announce that the dance floor was open and Hunter was saved again.

“Big Band,” I hummed appreciatively, as I glanced at the musicians. Jamie nodded in agreement.

“Ella,” I said, as a swooning foxtrot rose to greet us, “care to join me?”

She looked at her food, looked quickly at Hunter and then smiled a plea my way. “But Nicky, we’ll be the only ones on the floor.”

“Aren’t we always?” I winked and she blushed. Whether from shame or the actual desire to dance with me, she wiped her mouth again and got up. I led her onto the dance floor and we took dance position without conscious thought. We owned the floor without trying. The smell of Ella’s perfume unleashed a flood of memories. For what seemed a long, dreamlike while, all was right between Ella Abel and I.

“Mind if I cut in,” Hunter asked, more politely than I thought him capable. I stopped, stunned as my perfect bubble of bliss imploded. He was standing there (looking rather noble), not even a trace of ill-feeling on his face. Ooh, he was good at this game. Fair enough
. I was better.

“My lady is yours,” I said graciously.
Though if you so much as look at her wrong
….

“Treat her the way you’d treat your mother,” I added, as he took hold of Ella. Hunter’s eyes hardened as he caught the double entendre, but he grinned gratefully and took over my lead.

I glanced back at my table and noticed Jamie sitting alone, not quite sulking. I sat down next to her and watched as Hunter tried—almost successfully—to be as graceful on the dance floor as Ella was. For those who knew dancing, however, it was obvious that
Ella
was leading. I gave him credit for following well enough, though.

“I take it Hunter’s not quite what you’d had in mind when you set off to conquer a man,” I said off-handedly to Jamie.

Her forehead creased. “He’s… known,” she said simply. I caught her meaning.

“So why’d you bother to go out with him?”

Her frown deepened slightly. “I don’t know. Bored on a Friday night, maybe?”