Waking Sleeping Beauty (15 page)

He actually blushed. Sweeping away his fly-away hair, he preened. “Your daddy was right about that. I am the best. Good man, Charles.” He sighed, long and loud. “I’ll do it. Everything.”

“What?!” She sat up straight. “The workers?”

“I can put the main pieces together. But,” he wagged a finger at her, “you have to get your people to do the decorating. I can oversee, but no more.”

Under her breath, she prayed Rico would come to her rescue for the decor. That was not going to be an easy sale. Rico had a big New Year’s Eve bash he was throwing. He’d been the most vocally opposed to the New Year’s Day wedding date.

Leaving the florist with his three quickly crafted amazing bouquets in hand for the ad photo shoot, Francine wondered if she’d been wrong in selecting that day. “New year, new start, new chapter in someone’s life.”

”Why, dear, have you started talking to yourself since you’ve become a salesgirl?”

That voice made her middle sink. Her mother, dressed in her usual all black, sat in the back seat of the still running limo a few feet in front of her. “Come, I’ll have my driver bring you wherever you need to go. The chapel?” she asked, eyeing the bouquets.

Francie had an obligation to keep the flowers fresh and perky, she reminded herself as her mother’s new driver escorted her into the car. “Thank you,” she said between gritted teeth. The warmth of the interior was at direct odds to the woman sitting beside her.

“To King’s Department Store, please,” she said, leaning forward to speak to the driver.

He glanced at Mrs. King first and with her nod, he proceeded to pull out in traffic.

“You approve?” Francie asked.

“Hardly.” Her mother snorted. “You are a clever one, though. Using the store to find a husband.”

Cringing, she glared out the window and away from her mother.

“He’s too rough around the edges, don’t you think? Not husband material. Not suitable.”

“Who?”

“Marcus Goode, of course.”

Francine jerked her head around, staring into her mother’s cool gaze.

“I was afraid of that.”

“Afraid of what, Mother?”

“You’re starry-eyed at the mere mention of him. I should have known from the way you two were acting at the cooking demonstration. Don’t fall in love with him; it will only hurt in the end.”

She gulped hard, looking away. “And what do you suggest?” She used Marcus’ question once again.

“Sleep with him, if you must.”

“Mother!” Her shocked voice bounced off the black interior.

“Use him for what you want, what you desire. Women don’t use their wiles enough, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Too bad.” She hesitated. Francie felt her mother sizing her up. “You’ve changed.”

“It was about time, don’t you think?”

“No.” She held out her hand, curling her gloved fingers tightly. “I had you and Priscilla right here.”

“In your grasp.”

“You were happy—”

“That’s what you think,” she muttered, cradling the bouquets close.

“You’ve always wanted to get married. I’ve seen your wedding binder.”

“My wedding book? You looked at it?” Her sacred secret wasn’t even a secret, nor sacred any longer.

“What was so wrong about finding you a groom?”

“Meddling. You ruined it. You wanted to control me and whoever I married.”

“Marry, is the correct word. I still get to select him.”

Her mouth dropped open as she swung her gaze to her mother. “I will not comply with your orders.”

“You will if you want to have Marcus Goode in your life any longer.”

Nearly losing her footing as she exited the limo, Francine could not shake the awful words from her mind. In order to get her way, her mother threatened to ruin Marcus. She would begin a smear campaign. After all, who wouldn’t believe the current boss of King’s, the incredibly sexy confirmed bachelor and playboy, Marcus Goode, was fraternizing with one of his employees? The two of them had been on display at the cooking demo. And her mother had intentionally added fuel to the fire. As for the rules, her mother should know since she wrote the employee rules years ago right after she had married her stepfather, the owner of King’s.

“Sleep with him, if you must,” her mother’s statement echoed now. The underlying threat was, but don’t ask for more.

Her suspicions had been confirmed when her mother invited her to a dinner party this weekend. She had someone eager to meet Francine. But she figured it was the other way around: her mother had found another man she could manipulate into marrying her daughter so she could control them both.

How in the world had things gotten so complicated?

***

“Remarkable recovery, don’t you think?” Marcus asked as he wandered the study in Charlie’s home.

“Who would have thought this mystery wedding concept would create so much buzz for King’s?” Charlie said, flipping through the sales reports at the desk.

“It hits right in the demographics we’re targeting. The blog exploded when they found out you’re designing the secret wedding dress. Coming on the heels of your own wedding, and your dress, it ramps up the speculation. Glitter and glitz or subdued and classic?”

“Not telling,” she teased.

“Not even me?” How could he have gone from mildly interested in the event to wildly intrigued?
Francie.

“Is it contagious?”

“It sounds like a disease.” He thought marriage landed in that category. His mother’s experiences proved the truth of that theory.

“More like the love bug.”

He chuckled. “Ah, maybe the store can use that phrase in an upcoming ad.”

“I’ll get with Francie about that or Peg.”

Scratching his head, he said, “Peg could run the store, but not the ads. Good intention gone bad.” He winced at her first and last solo try at the ad. She’d turned everything upside down with advertising for a groom for Francie. Now, irony ruled as King’s played up the concept. His chest tightened at the line of male models at Francie’s beck and call. That and the constant stream of wannabes sailing in and out of the store to entice her. To her credit, she hadn’t succumbed to the flirting or marriage proposals piling up.

“Hmmm…Peg running the store, now that’s a thought. If only she had more of a sales background…”

“We could train her.” He shrugged. “Crash course. It may take a year, a year and a half to get her up to speed. If she’s willing or even interested, that is.”

“Can you stay that long?”

How could he work so close with Francie for that length of time? How could he live with being tempted every day without being able to touch her?
Sweet torture
. Another thought raced through his mind. Her search for a groom. “No can do, friend, not even for you.”

“I had to try.” She went back to the paperwork in front of her, murmuring her approval.

Thoughts of Francie with another man made his insides churn. Marcus resumed his pacing. He noticed a photo on one of the side tables. Picking it up, he gazed at a smiling Francie surrounded by her sisters. He focused on her. Her essence leapt out at him, stealing his breath away.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” He hadn’t heard Charlie’s approach. They hadn’t discussed the meeting in her office or Francie, which suited him fine. He suspected Charlie didn’t want the details; the less information she had, the less involved she’d be regarding the store and the necessary actions she’d have to take if the entire truth came out. The more left unsaid the better.

Marcus returned the frame to its home. “With a sharp mind for the family business.” He dodged her question.
Gorgeous
, he corrected her in his mind.

“Don’t play with fire,” she warned.

He turned sharply to face her. She searched his gaze, but he refused to reveal the status of his relationship with Francie. “You hired me to do a job. I’m doing it.”

“It didn’t include hurting my stepsister.”

“Hands off-message received, loud and clear.”

***

Marcus frowned. He stood outside Francie’s door.
How had things come to this?
he wondered.

With Charlie’s warning still fresh in his mind, he still couldn’t keep away.

Thoughts of Francie warred with his common sense, his tried and true rules. However, he missed her. Maybe if he saw her, even talked to her, this longing would vanish. “That’s it, the more she holds me at away the more I want her,” he muttered, recalling her current behavior.

Avoiding him seemed too mild a description, he decided. The last few days, she’d sent Rico or Evelyn to meetings and played phone tag with him, putting Peg in the middle. No matter what time of day he’d tried to see her, she was too busy working, huddled away somewhere, or with one of those slick male models posing for the camera.

Sales were up. He should be thrilled. But he wasn’t.

God, he missed her.

Before he changed his mind, Marcus knocked on the door.

“Coming,” she called.

He breathed a sigh of relief. At least she was home. She couldn’t very well dodge him in that tiny loft of hers.

The door clicked open. “Come in. I’ve just got to get my coat,” she said, ducking away.

He was wrong; she could hide.

Oblivious of anything, he nudged the door and walked in. He stilled.

“Just a minute,” she said, slipping on a high heel.

But it wasn’t her actions that held his rapt attention. She wore a slinky black dress molded to her body. Right now he was getting a view of the scooped neck and her lovely cleavage. Heat coiled in his middle. He whistled, low and long.

She jumped, straightening up. Her face lost all its color, and then, just as quickly, a pink flush crawled up her cheeks. “Marcus?! What are you doing here?”

“Here, Francie, you can borrow my earrings,” Prissy said, charging out of the bathroom. She stopped short. “Oh, Marcus, I didn’t know you were escorting Francie.”

“He’s not,” Francie said.

“Wanna bet?” he asked, slowly scanning her from head to toe and back up again. Wherever she planned to go, he’d tag along. She looked sexy and dangerous in that dress.

Prissy giggled. “Looks like you don’t have a choice, sis.” She thrust the earrings at her sister, and then grabbed her coat and gloves from a chair. “I’m outta here. Have a good time, you two.” She raised and lowered her eyebrows. Sliding past Marcus, she said, “Thanks for the new job, Boss, love it.”

Still staring at Francie, he pasted on a smile. “Glad for you. Rico thinks you’re the best intern slash assistant in the salon. With his duties increasing at the boutique, he says you’re a godsend.”

“He’s going to help me get into a night school. Pretty soon, I’ll be able to do your hair.”

He mumbled.

Before she left, she shot back, “Beware of the Barracuda.” He heard her laughter all the way down the stairs.

“Care to explain where we’re going?” He didn’t dare let Francie go anywhere by herself looking like that.

“I’m going. Alone,” she said forcefully. “Mother’s.” The last came out under her breath.

Alarm bells went off in his head. Ah, now he understood Prissy’s reference to their mother’s nickname of Barracuda. He sized her up. “I take it she won’t be alone.” It wasn’t a question.

He watched her swallow, giving him her answer.

“Shopping?” he asked while his gut twisted.
For a husband.

“It’s not like that.”

“Your mother? I think it is.” He flicked back the sleeve of his coat, glimpsing at the dial on his watch. “No time like the present.”

“Her driver is picking me up.”

“I’m sure there’ll be room for the two of us.”

“Marcus—”

He held up a hand, cutting her off. “Please, don’t thank me.”

The side of her mouth inched up.

“Ah, so you do still have a sense of humor,” he drawled.

***

Her mother obviously did not have a sense of humor, he noted as she caught sight of him ushering in her daughter to the intimate dinner party. Her blank, neutral expression might have fooled some people, but not him. He saw her eyes grow even colder.

Marcus brought his hand to the small of Francie’s back, lightly touching her. He heard her swift intake of breath.

He groaned. In the back of his mind, he wished he could caress the rest of her. First he’d begin by kissing her. He cursed under his breath.

“Stop,” she begged softly.

“That’s not what you said that night.”

She gasped.

He chuckled.

And that was how Mrs. King found them. “Mr. Goode, I wasn’t expecting you.” She might have directed the statement to him, but her glare landed on her daughter.

“Last minute. You don’t mind, do you? I’m sure we have a lot to discuss. You know—once you ran King’s, now I do.”

Her face froze even more. “Francie. That dress.”

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Marcus stalled what surely was the beginning of a cutting remark.

“Thank you, both,” Francie said politely. Underneath, though, Marcus felt her tremble. He rubbed his thumb over her back, soothing her.

“Mrs. King,” he said between gritted teeth, “I’m sure you don’t want to make a spectacle, do you? Your guests are staring.”

She fidgeted with her perfectly styled updo. “Welcome, welcome,” she cried, leaning in to kiss the air near Francie’s cheek. “Marcus,” she barely touched his arm, guiding him into the parlor, “I’m sure you would like to meet everyone.”

No, he wouldn’t. Especially not the young doctor she introduced them both to
.

The lanky, young man nudged up the glasses falling down on his nose as he gawked at Francie. He seemed to like to hide behind the lenses as he coveted a look down her dress.

“Bas—”

Francie jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, cutting him off. “Neal,” she asked, “what was your specialty again?”

He waxed on about himself for the next ten minutes until Francie finally interceded by suggesting she not ignore the other guests. His father was an older version of his doctor son and the mother a wallflower, shrinking under the booming accolades the father and son duo heaped on themselves.