on>
Darcie Elizabeth Baxter tries to get a handle…
ON MEN
I’m not asking for much—though Mr. Exactly Right would be nice. But do they all have to be Mr. So Unbelievably Wrong?
ON RELATIONSHIPS
Does it count if your only contact with him is a Monday-night rendezvous at the local Hyatt?
ON WORK
How can I possibly climb the corporate ladder with Greta Hinckley, a woman with Sabotage tattooed on one cheek and Revenge on the other (and I don’t mean her face!), perched on the next rung?
ON FAMILY
Am I the only person alive who thinks that families are like men…can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em?
ON TRAVEL
Australia…jet lag…a mirrored closet wall in a fancy hotel…too much beer…too many sheep…and Dylan. Oh, God. What am I going to do?
Strapless
Leigh Riker
MILLS & BOON
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For Kristi Goldberg, who first urged me to tell this story—
and take a new direction. Your ongoing support
and encouragement mean so much.
Thanks, dear friend and fellow writer.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter
One
“I mean, it’s just logical—stuff happens. Right?”
Like muttering to herself, Darcie Elizabeth Baxter thought, or trying to make sense of things, this was nothing new. Stuff happened, especially to a twenty-nine-year-old woman trying to figure out her life. Happiness. Men. Work. You name it.
So on a sleet-drizzled Monday morning in January, it didn’t surprise Darcie to march into her cubicle at Wunderthings Lingerie International six floors above the Avenue of the Americas—and find Greta Hinckley rifling her desk. Again. Still, Darcie’s heart stalled. Even her grandmother told her she could be too trustingly naive. Although Wunderthings was not a huge corporation on the order of Warner, Maidenform, or Victoria’s Secret—the industry superstar—the smaller company had potential. Darcie wanted to be part of that, but she felt a sinking sensation. Had she left the draft of her proposal for this week’s development meeting in plain view?
“Morning, Greta.”
The other woman jumped—not high enough for Darcie’s taste—then whirled around, a sickly smile pasted on her narrow mouth. It made Darcie feel lush, as if she’d sprung for those silicone lip injections like all the female news anchors on TV. Everything about Greta Hinckley seemed narrow. Her horsey face, her shoulders, her blade-slim body…her mind.
“Take anything that appeals to you.” Darcie set down her foam container of coffee, determined not to let her incipient PMS this morning send her over the edge. “Don’t let me stop you. Mi casa es su casa.” She didn’t know the Spanish word for desk. House would have to do. Greta wouldn’t notice.
From the crinkle lines around her pale brown eyes, the faint gray streaks in her medium brown hair, Greta had passed her thirtieth milestone years ago. Still single, without a man in her life, according to the office grapevine, Greta lived alone in Riverdale and devoted her entire being to Wunderthings—and whenever she could, to stealing Darcie’s creative output.
Too bad Darcie was the only person who knew that.
It was enough to make her yearn for a full bag of red licorice whips for comfort. Darcie didn’t like confrontation, especially with Greta, and usually Greta’s “borrowing” concerned lesser issues. A suggested design to showcase next season’s bras or bustiers. An Un-Valentine’s Day Sale. New, high-traffic quarters for a not-quite-profitable-enough branch store. Not this time. A glance at the pile of papers on Darcie’s desk confirmed that her proposal for Wednesday was missing. Her global plan.
She opened her coffee, took a sip, and burned her tongue. “Damn.” She liked to think of herself as a controlled person, even today when she knew better. With difficulty she mellowed her tone. “If there’s anything I can clarify, let me know.”
“Clarify?”
Darcie perched on the edge of her desk, crowding Greta. She hated the dumb act. As if this wasn’t enough of a disaster, Darcie’s mother was in town—the worst week she could pick for one of her surprise visits to check on Darcie’s “decadent” lifestyle
