Riches to Rags Bride Page 6

  “No? Do me a favor. Do that thing you did yesterday when you suggested that I didn’t trust you. Give me that look of defiance. Raise your chin just a touch.”

  Flustered, Genevieve tried to do as he asked, but she was too self-conscious. And she wasn’t angry at him.

  Lucas frowned. “You can do better than that. You know what I need from you. But I’m going to have to let you go if you can’t do this job the way it needs to be done. I won’t want to, but I need someone who can produce and produce quickly. If you can’t do that, then I’m afraid you’re gone.” His voice dropped lower, the last words barely a whisper, but the steel in his tone was unmistakable. He would be ruthless if need be.

  And like that, the desperation of her situation kicked in. Anger that she was failing and that yet another person was dismissing her overshadowed all of her fears. This time she didn’t just lift her chin. She threw her shoulders back the way she had been taught by a long-ago posture coach and she raised her head in what could only be called a regal gesture. “I won’t be gone,” she said and though her voice barely carried from her mouth to his ears, there was determination in her tone. “Don’t fire me,” she said. “Just…don’t.”

  He stared at her with those fierce, dark, bird-of-prey eyes of his and she managed not to flinch. But when he still hadn’t said anything, she finally dropped her gaze. “Please don’t,” she said.

  A low curse issued from his lips. “I hired you for a very good reason. I’m counting on you to be what I need you to be,” he said. “And I’m not firing you.” She waited for the word yet, but it didn’t come. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t thinking it. It was do-or-die time for her. She might not know what she was doing, but that couldn’t matter. She was going to do something.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE WOMAN WAS A DANGER to his composure. Lucas hated that. He had almost told her that she could have the job no matter what she did or didn’t do. And what kind of a mess would that turn out to be? Had he forgotten how important this project was or the promises he had made just a few months ago? To a woman he had wronged and never righted the wrong. To a woman…no—to many women whose anguished eyes still haunted him.

  No. He would never forget. He would go to his grave trying to fulfill those promises. And he would not allow anything to stand in the way of completing Angie’s House on time.

  Still, he could surely afford a few days to give Genevieve a chance to find her bearings. His controlling ways seemed to be detrimental to her composure and confidence. Maybe if he stayed away from her, she’d have a better chance of success.

  “Sure, put it that way, McDowell,” he muttered. The truth was that he just needed to stay far enough away from her to regain his composure. There was just something about Genevieve with her prim, pouty little mouth, her hair that was pulled back so hard that it had to hurt and her slender little body and delicate, haughty chin that made him want to…

  Cover that mouth with his own, slide his hands into that hair and send the pins flying, mold that sweet, perfect body to his.

  And that was the real reason he was staying away. Maybe that flare-up with Rita and the fact that he had spent most of the past six months alone was just making him crazy for any woman. No matter. He was going to give Genevieve some room to run.

  So, he did his best to stay away, concentrate on his legitimate business and not think about Genevieve at all beyond the sphere of work.

  Except he still drove her to and from Angie’s House and stopped in for a progress report every single day.

  That kept her in his sights, in his thoughts. He hated that. Staying with one woman, letting any woman slip behind his defenses, wasn’t allowed. He had good reasons for that. This was a nonnegotiable item.

  As for Genevieve and her progress, at first she was tentative in her reports. “I was thinking that it might be nice for each woman to be able to have some say in what her room, her personal retreat, will be like. So I thought perhaps…maybe…we should make each bedroom look finished but still leave room for more decorating after the women move in. They can perhaps…possibly…accessorize and make the rooms their own.”

  Lucas wasn’t a man who smiled much, but he couldn’t hold back a trace of a smile now. “That’s a great idea, Genevieve. No ‘maybe’ or ‘perhaps’ or ‘possibly’ about it,” he teased.

  “Oh.” Her lips parted as if he’d caught her by surprise. Her green eyes opened wide, all bright and sparkly. She looked as if he had handed her the keys to a treasure. She was beautiful. Radiant. He wanted to move closer.

  It was a terrible idea, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He took her hand, her incredibly soft hand with its long, slender fingers, and her palm with its sweet center just meant for a man’s lips. As if that involuntary thought was controlling his actions, he raised her hand, his mouth only inches away from all that soft skin.

  Stop, he warned himself.

  She looked taken aback. He hadn’t spoken that stop out loud, had he? Or maybe it was the near kiss that had upset her. Either way…

  “It’s a great idea,” he said again, releasing her. “Keep up the good work.” And then he made some stupid excuse and rushed away. He intended to give her several days free and clear of his company. At least as much as possible. He incorporated their daily reports into their drive time. He kept things businesslike, dry. Things should have been totally impersonal as they always were with his employees.

  And yet they never were. As they drove down the mean streets, she seemed to notice everything and everyone and her heart bled for all of them. “Look at that poor man,” she said one day, pointing out a man who appeared to be begging for money not for himself but for the sick boy beside him, a boy who was playing kick ball when Lucas drove by the next day. She exclaimed about the woman with a baby carriage struggling over the bumpy parts of the street. Or a stray puppy. Or a man trying to sell newspapers that no one seemed to want to buy.

  Genuine tragedy or scam, Genevieve ached for all of them. He had a bad feeling that sooner or later someone would take advantage of her soft heart.

  Stop thinking about her, he ordered himself. She wouldn’t want his advice or want to hear of his concern. I have six locks, she had said, clearly disgusted by him even asking. He needed to just forget about her situation.

  She wasn’t his concern, was she? Except…she was—damn her—another woman in peril. Another Angie. It almost seemed as if fate were mocking him by sending him someone like Genevieve just when he was trying to effect a change that would enable him to forever be free of her kind of woman. A woman in trouble, one whose situation was beyond his control when control was what he had always needed most, what he couldn’t survive without.

  So, he cursed fate. He tried to ignore Genevieve’s situation and just get on with the project as quickly as possible.

  Until the night when there was another robbery in her neighborhood.

  And there it was. Again. His past breathing down his neck. Hot. Frightening. Careening out of control. No way to control the situation at all. He remembered Angie, who had lived in fear her whole life. Angie, whose life had been changed forever because of two men who should have protected her but who hurt and failed her and, ultimately, destroyed her.

  Damn it, he had been one of those men and he could not survive hurting another woman like that or standing by and letting one get hurt when he had the means to stop it. Because he knew—all too well—that it was only a matter of time before someone noticed that a delicate flower like Genevieve was living smack in the middle of a “no holds barred, no crime left uncommitted” zone.

  She would end up being hurt because he had left her there.

  Because you have absolutely no right to interfere. She told you earlier in every way possible that she wants to fight clear of that place herself. And when that happened, she would no doubt return to the glassed-off world of the privileged, where rough men like him didn’t belong. That was a good thing.

  Still, Lucas didn’
t do a single push-up that night. His control that he had always relied on failed him.

  Because damn it, he knew the streets like he knew his own thoughts. Six locks or eight locks or even ten locks wouldn’t matter if the bad guys wanted in.

  One good look at Genevieve and they would want in.

  Lucas swore. He waited for the morning. And then he went to Angie’s House.

  Surely, if he did this right, he could get Genevieve out of his mind. Then he could go back to moving on with his life. And Genevieve could return to being…someone who didn’t matter to him at all beyond this project.

  Thank goodness.

  “So get on with it, McDowell. Make a deal with the woman. Get her out of your thoughts. Now. Today.”

  Genevieve looked around the small den, which was substantially cleaner than when she had entered it at the beginning of the day. Then she looked down at herself. Okay, the delicate piping around the edge of the neckline of her top was slightly damp, there were a few dust smudges here and there, but unlike some of the other outfits she’d been wearing, this one might live to see another day.

  An inordinate sense of accomplishment brought a smile to her face. “I did it,” she said to no one in particular.

  “Did what?” Lucas’s unmistakable deep voice came from the doorway, and Gen whirled to find him studying her intently.

  Automatically some major fluttering began in her stomach. She frowned at her own foolish reaction and squelched it until only a few tiny flutters remained.

  “I…” She held out her hand. “It’s dumb.”

  He waited.

  “I cleaned an entire room by myself. I mean, it’s not perfect.” Because now that he was here, she was noticing that she had missed some dust on the windowsill and there were still a few cobwebs here and there and…

  “It’s good,” he said.

  Which might have seemed like faint praise to most people, but to a woman used to no praise? His words were truthful. Not overblown. He hadn’t said “great,” which she would have known was a lie. He had said “good”…which was the precise word to describe what she’d done.

  “I…”

  “Say thank you, Genevieve,” he suggested.

  “Yes. Thank you. Did you need something? Is there something I need to do?”

  He came into the room then. “Actually, there is. Have Thomas and Jorge gone home?”

  She nodded. “Ten minutes ago.”

  “Good. We need to talk.”

  Uh-oh, the fact that he wanted her out of earshot of anyone else…

  “Is there something I’ve done wrong?”

  “No. It’s simply that I’ve decided that it would be a good idea if you stayed here instead of your apartment.”

  “Here?” Away from that rat hole where she’d been living? Away from Mrs. Dohenny’s shrieks and accusations about the remaining few dollars she still owed? A sudden whoosh of relief rushed in. And then…it rushed out again. There was something calculating in Lucas’s expression and tone. Something wasn’t quite right.

  Perhaps what wasn’t right was the fact that she had been so excited she hadn’t yet asked the obvious question. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “It’s more convenient here, for one thing. Having you here will save time, speed up the process. Are you telling me that you’d rather stay where you are than live here?”

  No. No. No. She just suddenly felt that there was something she was missing. Just as she had with Barry. And she felt as if a man was once again making personal decisions for her when the last time that had happened she had ended up with her self-esteem wrecked and her world in tatters.

  “Mr. McDowell,” she began, trying to create some distance. It didn’t work. He raised that lofty, dark eyebrow. “Lucas,” she amended. “I know my apartment might be a bit…distasteful. And it’s probably a nuisance having to pick me up and bring me home, but I can work around that. You don’t have to drive me. Even with the construction, there’s another bus stop only a mile and a half away. I can walk from there.”

  “I’m not worried about driving into your neighborhood, Genevieve. I lived in places like that long-term and I know what it’s like. It’s no place for a princess.”

  She raised her chin. “I told you, I’m not a princess. Or even a debutante anymore. What I am is a grown woman, Lucas.” She wanted to add that she was a strong woman, but that would be a lie. She wasn’t there yet. Not nearly. Right now she was awkward, with no street sense, and she was making a lot of mistakes. But she wanted to be strong. And much as she wanted out of her apartment, letting a man make that choice for her, even a man she needed to please to keep her job…well, she had to try to have some say in this.

  “You’re a woman, an adult,” Lucas admitted, his voice dark and deep, sending shivers through her. “But if someone bigger, stronger tried to take everything you own, you couldn’t prevent that from happening.”

  Her courage and confidence were failing her. She wasn’t used to arguing. She’d never been good at it; her parents had always won every disagreement. Furthermore, Lucas was her boss. Arguing with him felt really wrong, but she just couldn’t seem to stop thinking about how Barry had bullied her and betrayed her. She couldn’t seem to stop trying to assert herself. “You don’t know that I couldn’t defend myself. I could have had kickboxing lessons.”

  He tilted his head. “Have you?”

  Darn her need for honesty! “No.”

  At least he didn’t look triumphant the way Barry would have when he had won a point.

  “Genevieve,” he said, looking suddenly tired and exasperated. He rubbed his palm over the back of his neck. “Why does this mean so much to you?”

  She looked down. “I can’t afford to move here. I still owe a little money to Mrs. Dohenny, my landlady.”

  “I’ll pay it.”

  “No! No! I haven’t earned that much yet. And—”

  “And…?”

  She looked up then, daring to stare directly into those mesmerizing see-all gray eyes. “I know this sounds foolish.” And she was so tired of being thought foolish or inconsequential. Everyone she’d ever loved had thought of her that way. “The thing is…I’m penniless because my fiancé, who happened to be my financial advisor, tricked me out of my money. When that happened, I was humiliated, angry and clueless about how to go on, because all my life I’d let other people make my decisions.

  “That was when I realized just how precious and important and empowering independence really is. So, I really need to make my own way in the world. No charity involved. No letting other people make my decisions. Of course, I understand that you have the right to control anything regarding my work, but please. This is where I live. It’s not work.”

  He studied her for a minute, frowning.

  “I apologize if I’ve made you angry,” she began, which seemed to make him really angry. He cut her off with a sudden slashing of his hand.

  “If you want to be truly independent, you should speak your mind. No apologies. No letting me push you around when I’ve overstepped the boundaries of our work relationship.”

  She bit her lip.

  “Just as you did a moment ago,” he emphasized.

  “All right. Then we can stop talking about my apartment? And I’ll take the bus from now on.”

  Lucas opened his mouth to speak but the doorbell rang at that moment. He tilted his head and started to move toward the door at the same time as she did.

  Genevieve stopped. So did Lucas. Then he waved her through. “My apologies. You’re the project manager, and Angie’s House and any visitors here are in your hands. We’ll continue this discussion later.”

  Which meant that she hadn’t won. Yet.

  Stubborn, overbearing, infuriating man. No wonder women fell all over themselves trying to attract his attention. It must be the prospect of attaining the unattainable.

  Thank goodness she wasn’t that susceptible.

  Lucas watched Genevieve walk away, knowing he was ha
ndling this situation all wrong.

  The truth was that Genevieve tied him up in frustrated knots. He admired her for sticking to her guns, but he needed to have her settled, clear of his conscience and out of his private thoughts. If she was here, safe, he wouldn’t have to think about her at all beyond the job. He would have compartmentalized her situation, controlled the danger zones, the loose ends, the tough, emotional stuff that had once made his life a nightmare. Plus, if she truly wanted to be empowered…

  His thoughts were interrupted by Genevieve appearing in the doorway.

  “That was a delivery of paint primer,” she told him with a frown.

  “Something wrong with the order?”

  She shook her head. “No, but up until now you and I have only spoken about what’s happening at Angie’s House. Here I was all set to show my stuff and prove that I could handle any situation, and all I had to do was tell him where to put everything. Nothing even remotely challenging about that.”

  Lucas couldn’t help smiling just a little. “Don’t worry. You’ll face plenty of challenges before we’re through. There are always setbacks and glitches. I suppose you’re looking forward to those.”

  She looked at him suspiciously. “Is this a trick question?”

  He chuckled. “No, no tricks, but if it’s empowerment you’re after…”

  “It is.”

  “Then come stay here.” Like a dog that couldn’t ignore the bone, he came back to the topic that was keeping thoughts of Genevieve simmering in his conscience.

  “That’s not empowerment. It’s giving in.”

  A trickle of admiration at her tenacity slid through Lucas. He knew Gen didn’t like conflict, but she was making a stand. Too bad her stand conflicted with his. And with a cold, hard truth.

  “It’s not giving in,” he said. “Think about this. A lot of the women who’ll come to live at Angie’s House know all about neighborhoods like yours because they’ve been there, they’re trapped there. If they see you as someone who’s lived in that world, kicked free and survived to grow stronger…that’s inspirational and empowering. It makes you a role model.”