talk up the concept while never betraying the trust of the prospective new tenants. It’s a fine line we’ll be walking.”
Genevieve knew what it was like to have her trust betrayed. She shuddered.
“That’s why you asked me about Teresa.”
“If you had tried to say one word about her past, I would have stopped you. And I couldn’t have hired you.”
She looked up into Lucas’s harsh face. “Mr. McDowell, I assure you that I understand. It isn’t always easy or smart to trust someone. Words aren’t enough.”
“Agreed.”
“So … why me?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I choose my employees carefully. Teresa is trustworthy. She recommended you. That alone wouldn’t have been enough, however. I need a good project manager and I’m sure I could have found someone else. You, however, have an edge.”
For the job of project manager? Genevieve wanted to close her eyes. Had Teresa overstated her skills? Did Lucas McDowell think she knew more than she did?
“What’s my edge?” she managed to ask.
“If you’ve organized your parents’ society events, you have a handle on how to make things happen and how to deal with time constraints, problems, setbacks and personnel. You’ve proven that you can keep a secret should that become necessary, and you have some experience with decor, something I lack. Furthermore, and most importantly, because as I said, I don’t want this project, Angie’s House, to be a single entity, you have the name to get people talking, to attract the kind of attention we need to bring in other donors for other houses.”
Genevieve struggled to keep her hands from shaking. The last thing she wanted right now was attention. The last thing she was capable of was bringing in people on the mere mention of her name.
She tried to swallow, struggled to find her voice. “You have a famous name.”
He shook his head. “I have money and a successful business. With a few exceptions, famous entrepreneurs don’t become household names. But people like your parents? World renowned artists? Yes, they do. Their name is like a glowing diamond. It puts people in a good mood, gets them excited. And you happen to share it.”
Genevieve’s heart fell a bit. Her importance hinged on her parents’ talents as it always had. She wanted to back away. But she couldn’t afford to.
“Does that mean I really do have the job?” She managed to ask.
“If you want it.”
She wanted it, but she must have been slow to say yes.
“If you don’t, tell me now. I’m on a strict timeline.
I have another job waiting in France when this one is done, an opening of a new store in Japan after that and I intend to finish up here in six weeks. So, if you can’t do this, Genevieve, or if you don’t want to, tell me. You’re free to go.”
She wanted to walk away. There were things she didn’t like about this setup. Her name, unlike her parents’ names, would be of no use. She should tell Lucas that. She didn’t really even have the skills he needed. And then there was the man, this intimidating, far too masculine man. But … hunger gnawed at her. Her faintness wasn’t only from nerves. She wasn’t free. She had to have this.
“I’d like the job, please,” she said. “I’ll be your …”
“Project manager.”
She nodded. The title was that belonging to a bolder person, one who knew how to take charge of situations and not be tricked or bullied into doing things she didn’t want to do.
“I’ll be your project manager. I’m your woman.”
For a moment, those gray eyes turned fierce. Genevieve realized just how little she knew about this man.
“Good.” Lucas held out his hand, and Genevieve automatically reached out. His fingers closed around hers, his hand much larger than hers. She should have felt trapped, insignificant. Instead, as heat seeped from his skin to hers, she was suddenly aware of him as a man more than as her new boss. That could be a problem if she let it. She wouldn’t.
“You should know that I believe in being hands-on in a project like this, Genevieve,” he said, releasing her. “If you and I are going to oversee and sell this project, we have to know it from the ground up. Every higher level employee at every factory and store I own spent some time in the trenches so that they could fully understand the business, so we’ll get started on your ground-floor experience right away. I’ll pick you up tomorrow. We’re headed straight for Angie’s House. Dress for work.”
“What kind?”
“The dirty kind. Do you have clothing you can mess up?”
She had clothing. It was the one thing she still had in abundance. Whether or not she had what Lucas meant, however, was questionable.
“No problem,” she said, hoping her smile was reassuring. “Let me give you my address.”
“I have it already.”
Once again, Genevieve had that feeling of being overwhelmed, too small and insignificant next to this man. She felt vulnerable, and vulnerable was the last thing she wanted or needed to feel right now.
“I won’t let you get to me, Mr. McDowell,” she muttered to herself later when she scoured her closet looking for something that could rightfully be called work clothes.
But she knew she lied. The man seemed to know everything about her. He felt like a powerful dark tornado that drops out of the sky, wreaks havoc in your life and then roars off again. He had her at a disadvantage, and she had sworn she would never be at a disadvantage with a man again. She would have to work on that and just start ignoring all the unnerving things about Lucas. She hoped that was possible.
Lucas shook his head after Genevieve was gone. This might well be a disaster in the making. She was young, destitute and had never worked at a job in her life. Despite her telling him that she wanted the job, she might change her mind later if there were complications or strife or if something better came along. He’d spent most of his youth dealing with people who thought they wanted to do something good but later changed their minds when things hit a rough patch.
What’s more, she was far too pretty. Even with her hair scraped back from her face so brutally, or maybe because of it, her classic features were striking. And also … a vision of her legs and those luscious knees crept in, and he quickly slapped that right out of his consciousness. The last thing he needed was to get involved with a socialite who was down on her luck and looking to improve her situation. Women … and others had used him or tried to use him before. Repeatedly. As an orphan in the foster system, people had thought taking him in would earn them Good Samaritan points. As a man who’d fought his way to wealth and power, women like Rita thought he’d make a nice trophy or else they wanted his money and power. The only thing that none of them realized was that he had nothing to give them, emotionally or any other way. He’d spent all his emotional capital years ago, wasted it, burnt it, lost it. Now all he had—all he would ever allow himself—was work and guilt.
But
