Waking Sleeping Beauty (3 page)

The kiss, that was real, he noted, still feeling the soft sweetness of her lips. Something stirred inside his chest. He tried brushing it away, like a pesky fly. But it stayed and heat swirled whenever he re-lived that moment, which he’d had on replay all night long.

Hearing the growing voices just outside the conference room door, Marcus mentally shook himself out of the dreamlike state he’d fallen into again. He smiled at the thought, remembering how he’d asked her if she was Sleeping Beauty.

“There you go again, thinking about her,” he muttered under his breath as the first of the managers came through the door.

Within ten minutes, the room was filled. A quiet buzz of conversation and anticipation charged the atmosphere. Marcus had greeted each one at the door and now was in a friendly exchange with the men’s department manager about how football season was going.

He looked at his watch, frowning. It was two minutes to nine and Charlie hadn’t shown up yet. That was not like her at all. If she was handing over the reins today, then she would have come in and briefed him sooner. And last night, she’d sent Bruno, the guard, to track him down and let him know something had come up and she couldn’t meet with Marcus after all.

She did leave him the reports and her notes, which he studied for hours, something to take his mind off the mystery lady.

Ah, there I go again. Everything comes back to thoughts of her.
He shook his head, wondering how a brief encounter could have rattled him so deeply.

***

Francie’s jaw dropped. She closed her mouth, and then gulped hard. “Charlie, are you telling me the managers are meeting to discuss me?”

Her stepsister, pale and shaky, nodded solemnly.

“Me?” she squeaked. “They didn’t find out about last night, did they?” Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead.

Charlie shook her head. “No. I didn’t tell anyone I found you.”

She groaned, feeling the sting of heat on her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” Thank goodness she’d run away from that gorgeous man who’d kissed her and finally ran into Charlie, who didn’t probe too much into the reason she was wearing a fifteen thousand dollar wedding dress, running through the store. It was Charlie who’d helped her out of the stays and returned the exquisite garment to its proper place.

“Francie…” She seemed to gasp for breath. “I think I’m going to be sick again.” She rushed out of the room and Francie dashed after her into the executive bathroom.

“Morning sickness again,” Charlie said hoarsely when she finally came out of the stall.

Francine grabbed a bunch of paper towels, gave some to her stepsister and wet the others to hold against the back of Charlie’s neck as she rinsed out her mouth. “Poor thing,” she murmured, a stab of guilt slicing through her at how selfish she’d been, not realizing Charlie was ill.

“Francie, I didn’t tell you, but last night I fainted.”

“You never faint…oh, the baby. When? Here?”

Straightened from the sink, she shook her head. “Home. Alex barely caught me in time. Of course, he called the doctor right away. He ordered me to bed rest for the next two weeks at the very least. No work.”

“Of course. That’s the best thing for you. You hired someone to come in and take over temporarily.” Dawning hit. “Well, for crying out loud, what are you doing here now? You should be home.”

“I had to warn you.”

Francie brushed back a few stray hairs from her stepsister’s cool, pale face. “Thanks. I’ll be fine.” She didn’t believe it, but she had to reassure Charlie.

“It’s just not you. Priscilla, too, is in danger of being fired.”

Her stepsister’s eyes were filled with worry. Francie knew Charlie felt responsible for them, trying to teach them to be independent since they left the sheltered life of rich daughters to the scary world of self-sufficiency.

“We’re big girls. We’ll figure it out.” In the back of her mind, Francie had no clue on how she could do that for herself, never mind her younger sister. “I know you’ve covered for us these last few weeks and I’m grateful.” Did she sound calm enough? Her insides were churning. How in the world would she find another job when she had no experience?

“They don’t hate you, honey, but—”

“I’m my mother’s daughter, so I’m branded, for life.” She sighed, recalling the suspicious looks other employees shot her way; their distance, the way they stopped talking when she approached them, knowing they were most likely talking about her or Prissy; the cool, almost frigid, atmosphere when she went to the break room for lunch. All but Peg and Rico. At least she had them.

“Just be yourself. You love helping people. The employees might not like you now, but the customers love you. Do you know how many times I’ve heard you were a lifesaver when it came to some bridezilla or momzilla of the bride? You just didn’t make a sale, you saved dozens, and you were more like a wedding personal shopper for them.”

“I’m sure it was more of a complaint than a compliment.” Francie chewed on her bottom lip.

“’Fraid so,” Charlie admitted. “You’re in jewelry, so the employees in the other departments didn’t like when you found exactly what was needed in their departments and they didn’t.”

“I’m infringing on their territory? Is that it?”

She nodded.

“Like my mother made them feel?”

“Exactly. Now you understand.”

“I’ve been stepping on toes,” she said, wincing. “And Priscilla is testing their patience.” It wasn’t a question; her younger sister was testing hers, also. How many times could Francie cover her shift? How many times could Priscilla blow off work and go have fun without a care in the world? “But they like her,” she acknowledged with a sting of envy.

“She doesn’t challenge their power.”

“And I do.” She sighed heavily.

Charlie swayed. Francie reached out to steady her. “I was hoping I could stay for the meeting at least.”

“No, don’t you dare risk it. Come on, I’ll help you gather your things and get you home.”

She winced as they made it into her office to find Alex waiting there. “I think Dolly called the brigades.”

“Thankfully she did,” he commented drily about Charlie’s longtime confidante and the family’s cook.

Francie greeted her brother-in-law, chuckling inwardly that her mother had wanted her to marry this man. He was all the things in a man a mother would want for her daughter, but not her. His charm and worldly powerful air just intimidated Francie. But he and Charlie were the perfect pair for each other. Her stepsister had softened some of his hard edges.

“She’s stubborn. Just like Daddy,” Francie said.

“So I’ve been warned,” he muttered, helping Charlie with her coat and handing her her purse.

“Not that you ever saw it for yourself,” Charlie said with a smile in her voice.

He grinned. “Not at all, wife.”

Before she and Alex departed, Charlie halted in front of Francie. Her eyes were filled with dread. “I tried. I don’t know if it did any good.”

“It has this far. Thank you for that.”

“Francie,” she said with a stern edge in her voice, “you’re a King—”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

“The heck you aren’t. Our daddy loved you. When he adopted you, he made you his daughter. You are a King. Fight for what you want. Fight like a King.”

Tears stung the backs of Francie’s eyes. She hugged her stepsister close. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Letting her go was difficult. Her ally. Her champion. But Francie treasured the fierce declaration.
You are a King.
“And darn it, I’m going to fight like a King.”

Now if only she could convince her shaky legs, sweaty palms, and flip-flopping heart.

***

After fifteen minutes of waiting, Marcus started the meeting. “Welcome everyone. I apologize for the delay. We’re still waiting on an employee—”

”Francine King,” the chic, older woman to his left, the wedding dress department manager, said with obvious disapproval.

“Yes,” he agreed, noting the looks exchanged among the managers, some with a trace of disdain they quickly covered up when they realized he’d seen them. He continued, “Also, I’ve just been informed that Charlie won’t be able to attend. Due to her condition, her doctor has put her on bed rest.” He nodded to Peg seated to his right for relaying the information.

There were murmurs of concern and he addressed them. “The doctor’s taking precautions. I’m sure you all realize how much hard work and time she’s put into the store over the last few weeks. She wants it to be successful and she hired me to help carry on her vision until she can find a permanent replacement. I know that you and I can make King’s even more of a success and sustain that success for Charlie and for the late Charles King.”

There was a smattering of applause.

“Now then—”

The door burst open.

Marcus jerked his head up to find himself staring at the mystery lady. His heart stopped, and then it beat in overdrive.

Gasping for breath, she swept her honey blonde hair away from her forehead. “Sorry I’m late.” Her smile was forced and he could see the corner of her lip tremble with the effort. Her gaze encompassed the stony room and landed on him. “You!” she cried.

Her cornflower blue eyes made him swallow hard. “
You’re
Francine King?”

Marcus sat back in his chair, eyeing the woman who’d kept him up all last night. It didn’t help that she showed up in a pencil-thin charcoal gray skirt and a blue silk blouse that matched the color of her eyes, her honey blonde hair with its side-swept bang, and eyes piercing through him. She was tall and slender, perfect in every way. The glimpse he had of her last night wasn’t nearly as good as the real Ms. Francine King before him now. His chest tightened. Blood pulsated through his veins.

Sitting primly at the opposite end of the conference table, she listened as the managers, one after the other, went down their litany of items they held her accountable for.

“Francie’s stolen sales from my people,” the housewares manager began, smoothing the lapel of her crisp white business jacket.

“Butted in, is more like it,” the shoe department manager chimed in, her red hair piled as high as the heels she was wearing.

“Interfered,” harrumphed the women’s department representative. “I spend hours selecting the perfect assemble and in minutes,” she pointed at Francine, “she ruins it, suggesting of all things, it’s too old-fashioned for the bride, or makes her hips stick out. Well, that one’s hips are already out and never going to get back in, if you know what I mean.” She sighed wearily.

He watched Francine take it all, one hit after another. Her heart-shaped face stayed neutral, but he noticed her chin going up with each verbal punch. And her eyes, he realized, were filled with hurt. She remained tight-lipped, a pasted-on barely there smile.

Her gaze encountered his. Heat sliced through him, hot and sharp. His middle coiled in a tight knot. When she licked her lips to moisten them, his gaze fixated on that gesture, wishing he’d dared kiss her deeply, fully, sliding his tongue with hers.

Marcus cleared his throat. “I’m sure you could go on,” he spoke to the managers, “however, I believe it’s time to hear from Ms. King herself.” He turned back to her. “Francie, is it?” He tested her nickname out, liking how intimate it felt on his lips. “Please, state your case.” He nodded to her, hoping she could defend the accusations.

“Thank you, all of you, for your time.” Her voice was low, yet perfectly steady. He gave her that. “Your concerns are just, I’m afraid.”

He jerked his full attention to her words.
Just? Where was she going with this? Digging herself in a hole she couldn’t get out of?

Even from here, he could see her swallow hard, and then she continued, “I have done those things, unintentionally, I assure you. I never meant to take over. I just wanted to help the customer.”

The tense, frustrated air seemed to slowly siphon out of the room. He smiled in admiration for the gentle, skillful handling of what could have been a firing squad.

She addressed the complaint directly to the housewares manager. “Ms. Shepard, I apologize. The bride came to get her engagement ring resized and burst into tears, having spent nearly two hours with her mother arguing over china patterns. I was certain the poor girl would call it all off, so I offered my help. Once I showed the bride some of the options, incorporating one or two of the mother’s ideas, they both seemed to be pleased with the selection.” She lifted her right shoulder slightly. “I do have some practice in handling difficult mothers.”

The managers broke into laughter. Marcus chuckled and Peg nearly snorted, whispering to him, “Ain’t that the truth. Old battle-ax.”

His regard for Francie grew. She cleverly handled a sticky situation and poked fun at herself. Nicely done.

She wasn’t finished. In a tone that spoke of confidence and determination, she addressed each manager’s concerns. “Miss Hillary, I am sorry for stepping on your toes, or should I say, your shoes.”

Another round of laughter echoed through the room. Peg said under her breath, “Francie’s got them eating out of her hands now.”

It was only a few minutes later that Francie had skillfully redirected the managers’ anger and convinced them of her honest intentions.

“And the wedding dresses, Ms. King?” Ophelia asked, breaking through the laughter and essentially putting a wet blanket over everyone.

Francine jerked her head to Marcus. He witnessed a wave of panic cross her features and her silently asked question if he had told anyone.

“Yes, um, what exactly have I done?” This time her voice shook slightly. She bit the corner of her bottom lip. He zeroed in on that gesture; he wanted to be the one tugging at her lip, nibbling it.

“Hah! You have some nerve feigning innocence,” the older woman retorted, the scowl between her eyes deepening. “You do butt in, you take over. Why, my girls are nearly in tears after you’re in our department.”

He watched as the blush stained her high cheekbones. It just brought her to life even more.