The Cinderella Obsession (19 page)

He doesn't trust them, you mean,
Gill thought. Typical rich-man attitude.

"It's too bad you hadn't stopped by ten minutes earlier," the woman went on. "He was here to pick up some papers he wants to review over the weekend." She took the envelope from Mom and glanced at the label. "Does he need this in a rush? I could courier it to him."

While Mom and Farraday's secretary discussed the details of shipping documents, Gill wandered to the sitting area just past the reception desk. Floor to ceiling windows spanned one side of the area and two inviting off-white leather couches sat in a cozy arrangement around a square glass coffee table, set to take advantage of the view. Gill stared at the city laid out below them, Dow's Lake glittering in the afternoon sunlight.

The white glint of an aircraft in the clear depths of the sky caught her attention.

Oh, drat! She hadn't verified that Puff, her favorite aircraft, would be ready for her one o'clock lesson. She'd booked Puff last week, but the plane had gone in for regular maintenance yesterday and they'd hit a few snags.

Gill
opened her purse to grab her cell phone, but it wasn't there.  She must have left it charging at home.

She
glanced around for a phone and, when she didn
'
t see one, strode back to the secretary
'
s desk. 
"
I need to make a quick call.
"

The woman waved at the phone on her desk. 
"
Go ahead.
"
  She clicked the button beside the label
'
Line 2
'
and pushed the phone toward the edge of the desk, holding out the receiver.  Gill stepped closer and took it, then dialed the number for the airport.

"Hi, Suzie? It's Gill." She turned away from Mom and the secretary so her voice wouldn't interfere with their conversation, then leaned back against the edge of the desk.

"Hi, Gill. What's up?"

"I'm not sure if I have an aircraft for my one o'clock lesson."

"You're booked with George, right?" Suzie asked and Gill murmured an affirmative response. "Let me check."

Gill heard the clicking of keys and knew Suzie was glancing through the appointments on the computer.

"Puff is penciled in here."

"I know, but she was still being serviced last I heard."

"Oh, right, that leaky oil thing. Hang on."

Gill heard Suzie shout to someone in the background and a moment later she came back on the line. "No problem. She's all set."

"Thanks, Suzie. See you at one."

Gill hung up the phone, and turned to see a gray-haired man in a navy suit get off the elevator. She stood up and tugged the hem of her blazer to straighten any wrinkles that had formed, then brushed down the sides. His keen blue eyes skimmed her suit from collar to hem and his mouth puckered into a frown.

"Mr. Farraday." The secretary stood up with Mother's envelope and a couple of file folders in her hand. "I have a few errands to run before this afternoon's meeting."

The man nodded and the woman hurried away. His gaze settled on Mother.

"Claire," he said. "Is this a new employee for me to meet?"

"No, Mr. Farraday. This is my daughter, Gillian."

His gaze intensified as it shifted back to Gill and she quelled an overwhelming urge to fold her hands in front of her and drop her gaze to the ground. Instead, she hiked up her shoulders and met his frank scrutiny head on.

"So, you finally got her in here, did you? Well, come on, young lady. Let's have a little chat."

Her back stiffened. Mom may have to answer to this man, but Gill didn't. "No, I'm sorry, Mr. Farraday," Gill responded. "Mom and I were just off to lunch and I really don't have time
—
"

"Nonsense." He grasped Gill's elbow and led her toward his office door.

Gill narrowed her eyes as she glanced back at Mom, silently demanding she get her out of this situation. Mom sent back a pleading look. That look that begged her not to make trouble. That look Gill knew she could not ignore. After all, Mom had trained her over twenty-eight years. Gill sighed, knowing she'd been bamboozled. Had Mom planned this all along? Or was she just taking advantage of opportune timing?

Gill tugged her arm free and followed Farraday through the office door hating the position Mother had forced on her. The inside of the executive office, even more plush than the reception area, was as intimidating as it was impressive. Gillian hated blatant displays of wealth and, even knowing that a company must have an office that reflects a positive financial position, the luxurious trappings made her uncomfortable. More floor to ceiling windows made up one wall of Mr. Farraday's office, sending dazzling sunlight into the room, bouncing off the highly polished surface of his glossy mahogany desk.

Mom walked past the dark green leather chairs surrounding a square cherry wood coffee table towards the desk where Farraday sat watching them with sharp blue eyes.

"Sit down," Mr. Farraday said, indicating the chairs opposite him

Mom sat down, tugging Gill into the seat beside her.

"So, Claire, this is the daughter you've told me so much about." Farraday circled around her, inspecting every detail of her appearance, from the upswept coil of her dark, chestnut hair, down the trim lines of her fitted, red linen suit, to the tips of her matching red pumps. "She certainly is as pretty as you claimed. I wondered, knowing that through a mother's eye...."

Gill felt her cheeks flame. The off-hand compliment, meant more as an appraisal of an asset, set her teeth grating. She kept her mouth clamped shut, reminding herself this was her mother's employer and that she didn't want to get her mother in trouble. It took a great deal of convincing.

"I know what you mean, Mr. Farraday." Mom beamed, as though the compliment had been directed at herself. "And she's very clever, too. She has a university degree."

His eyebrows arched. "In what? Home Economics?"

Gill seethed even more.

"Now, really, Mr. Farraday," Mom countered. "You know women do more than stay at home and take care of the house nowadays. Look at me."

Gill groaned inwardly. Her mother worked in personnel, an area where women were well accepted.  Gill would bet there weren't any women on the technical side of Mr. Farraday's business.

"Let the girl talk for herself, Claire. Well, Gillian?"

"I have a degree in Mathematics with an Engineering option."

"Eh?" His keen gray eyes narrowed, skepticism oozing from him.

"Mechanical Engineering," Gill clarified.

This man reminded her of her stepfather. Eric had ridiculed her efforts in school.  To the point of making her believe she'd never amount to anything. He'd always made her feel like an incompetent fool. But despite that, she'd made it through university
—
in a man's field no less
—
and her dream career was within grasp.

"So, you're an engineer?"

"No. Not exactly...."

"You earned a degree and then didn't use it?" He narrowed his eyes. "I've heard of women who go to university to earn their MRS."

In other words, to find a husband. Gill stood up and sucked in a large gulp of air, ready to spill a torrent of angry words in response, but her mother grabbed her arm and pulled her back into her chair.

"Gill's not like that. She's the type of person who likes to be well prepared for anything she undertakes. She wants to be a commercial pilot. And if that doesn't work out, her qualifications will help her pursue other things."

Farraday shook his head. "None of that really matters. She won't need a career if she marries my son. Being smart is good, though. Jeremy doesn't like the dumb blond type."

Her stomach clenched in a tight, hard knot.
If I marry his son? Does he think I'm here because of that stupid ad?
This time when Gill shot to her feet, she stepped out of Mom's reach. "What do you mean
if I
—
?"

Farraday fixed her with a sharp stare. "Well, you don't automatically get the position, you know. I want to make sure you're appropriate before presenting you to him."

Presenting me to him?
Good heavens. It sounded like she was to be some kind of gift. "Well, you can just
—
"

"Gillian, please." Her mother's words cut across what would have been a very rude retort. Mom might be soft spoken, but she could find volume when the situation demanded it. At her do-as-I-say-or-I'll-strangle-you look, Gillian glared at her.

If this man says one more offensive thing
—

"Speaking of appropriateness," Farraday started, now seated at his desk. "My son is looking for a woman who can, shall we say, wear white to the wedding. I was very pleased to hear that my son holds such virtue in high esteem."

Yeah, right. As if he's followed those axioms himself.
The words scuttled through Gill's mind but she successfully kept them to herself. Barely.

Mr. Farraday folded his hands on his desk and stared straight into Gill's eyes, assessing. "I assume you meet the requirements?"

Gill stiffened her spine and drew in a deep breath ready to sputter out some cutting remark.

"Yes, she does," Mom interjected.

"And why is that?"

Gill blinked, thrown off by his audacity. "I beg your pardon?"

"It seems very odd to me that such an attractive girl hasn't hopped into the sack with someone, given the morals of today's young people. Is there something wrong with you?"

Wrong with me? WRONG WITH ME?
This man who was looking for a virgin wife for his son by interviewing women in his business office was asking if there was anything wrong with
her
?

"That does it!" Gill retorted. "I don't have to put up with this." She turned on her heel and stomped toward the door.

"Gill, wait!" Her mother's words chased after her as she stormed past the secretary in the outer office and on past the elevators to the stairs. She shoved the door open and raced down the steps, not giving her mother time to catch up with her—and make her feel guilty.

She tugged the clip off the back of her head and stuffed it in her jacket pocket, letting her shoulder-length hair tumble free, hoping this would help diminish her headache. The sound of her mother calling her name down the stairwell, and the answering echoes, only made her descend faster. Mother wouldn't follow her down the stairs and the elevators in this building always took forever to arrive, especially over lunch hour. If all went well, Gill would be able to escape the building without having to face Mother.

* * * *

She wasn't gorgeous, but she was dependable. Cade sighed as he unlocked the door of the beat-up old pickup truck his friend, Luke, referred to as Old Blue and tossed the documents he'd been carrying onto the passenger seat. Thank heavens Luke had handed over the keys, albeit reluctantly, when Cade found his car blocked into the driveway by the moving truck.

The door creaked on rusty hinges. Cade climbed inside and slammed the door shut behind him. The clomping sound echoed through the underground garage of the large office building. Shoving the keys into the ignition, he glanced out the windshield in time to see a flurry of red fabric and long black hair swirl by. The woman's spike heels hit the ground with a force that could split concrete. Her eyes blazed with unsupervised anger and her cheeks matched the color of her suit. If she'd been a cartoon character, the artist would have shown steam blowing out her ears and drawn her with the body of Jessica from Roger Rabbit
—
long legs, a trim waist, and ample curves in all the right places.

"Incredible," he murmured to himself. His mouth stretched into a smile as he watched her stomp across the parking lot to a luminescent yellow Neon. "Lord, I wouldn't want to get in her way."

He turned the key in the ignition and the truck roared to life. Or more precisely, sputtered. Shoving the gear stick into first, Cade coordinated the gas and clutch pedals to negotiate the vehicle into a smooth acceleration. All went well as he shifted to second, but as he entered the ramp to the next level, the engine faltered
—
and died.

Cade turned off the ignition and tried starting the truck again. Nothing happened. Not even an encouraging chug.

"Great." Cade shifted to neutral and tugged on the hand brake then climbed out.

He stood staring at the vehicle for a few moments, thinking, then kicked the tire. It didn't do much good, but it made Cade feel better. If only he knew something about engines.

But Luke had always been the one to get his hands dirty. Cade had pursued more intellectual endeavors.

He scratched his head. Maybe if he opened the hood....

A sharp peeping sound snatched his attention to the car that had pulled up behind him. When he saw the yellow Neon with the lady-in-red glaring at him from inside, a grin tugged at his lips.