Millionaire Boss. Peggy Moreland

A very capable woman, I might add, who immediately won the children over with her cheerful disposition and youthful exuberance.”

      “Cheerful disposition and youthful exuberance?” He snorted a laugh and popped a grape into his mouth. “Who’d you hire? Mary Poppins?”

      Irritated by his contemptuous remark, she ignored him and nibbled on a slim wedge of Gouda she’d selected from the variety of gourmet cheeses she’d placed on her plate.

      He shook his head and popped the last strawberry into his mouth. “Should’ve stayed with your brother,” he said as he set the plate aside and reclaimed his laptop. “No kid deserves to have a stranger dumped on ’em…even if the alternative is being saddled with a frumpy old aunt who wouldn’t know fun if it bit her square on the butt.”

      Frumpy old aunt?

      Numb, Penny could only stare, his description of her smacking at an already bruised self-esteem.

      She rose quickly, tears stinging her eyes, and crossed to the bar, furiously blinking them back, not wanting to give him the opportunity to call her a crybaby again. She dumped the remains of her snack into the waste basket, rinsed off her plate, then grabbed her purse from the bar and headed for the door.

      At the sound of her leaving, he glanced up. “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

      “For a walk,” she replied, trying her best to keep the tears from her voice.

      “But we’ve got that black-tie thingamajig at seven.”

      “I’ll be back before then,” she promised, then quickly closed the door behind her before he saw her tears and knew how much his tactless—if accurate—description of her had hurt.

      Penny walked down the street, her chin bumping dejectedly against her chest, her gaze on the blurred tips of her black pumps. She wanted to despise Erik for the cruel things he’d said about her but found she couldn’t. Not when he was right. She was frumpy. And she feared she wasn’t much fun, either.

      But how could she be fun, she cried in silent frustration, or even know what it was, when she’d never been allowed to have any while growing up? After their parents’ death, Jase had assumed guardianship of her, and if Erik thought Penny didn’t know what fun was, then he should meet her brother, Jase, the epitome of the glowering wielder of the proverbial whip.

      She caught her lower lip between her teeth, feeling a stab of guilt for her less-than-charitable thoughts toward a brother who had sacrificed so much for her. Life hadn’t exactly been kind to either of them, she reflected sadly. Their parents’ death had forced Jase to drop out of college and return home to take care of Penny and run the family ranch. And ranch life left little time for fun. Penny knew, because for years she’d worked right alongside her brother.

      And when her friends had gone off to college to kick up their heels and spread their wings a little, Penny had remained at home, commuting from their ranch to Austin each day to take courses at the University of Texas. And with Jase, by that time, saddled with the responsibilities of his own growing family, Penny had felt obligated to help finance her education by typing term papers for other students and offering tutoring on the side. Between the long commute, a full load of classes each semester, evenings spent with her head buried in books and whatever hours left over in the day filled with typing term papers or tutoring some unmotivated jock, pitifully few hours remained in which to make new friends or pursue a social life.

      No, she thought miserably as she dragged her feet to a stop before a shop’s window display. Penny Rawley wouldn’t know fun if it were to bite her square in the butt, just as Erik had suggested.

      Fearing she would cry again if she allowed herself to think about the upsetting conversation any longer, she forced herself to focus on the items displayed in the window. Skimpy sundresses in varying shades of the rainbow draped headless mannequins with hourglass figures, while cropped tank tops danced from invisible strings above coordinating shorts that looked barely long enough to cover a woman’s behind.

      And superimposed over it all was Penny’s reflection.

      Slowly she focused on it. The sensible bun. The tailored blouse with its crisp bow tied neatly beneath her chin. The utilitarian suit jacket that hung loosely at her hips, hiding a figure that Penny wasn’t even sure existed any more. The A-line skirt, its hem brushing modestly at her knees. She couldn’t see any farther…but she didn’t need to see more of her reflection to realize that frump fit her to a T.

      Sickened by the reminder that Erik was right to label her a frump, she started to turn away but stopped and slowly turned back around. But she didn’t have to be a frump, she told herself as she stared at her reflection. She could change. There was no reason she couldn’t dress differently. Granted, she’d never bothered to stay abreast of current fashion trends. Had no need, not when her wardrobe was dictated by what was serviceable for ranch and housework. But that’s what sales clerks were for, right? It was their job to stay on top of what was hot and what was not in the fashion industry. Surely she could trust one of them to help her make a few selections.

      Remembering the black-tie affair that Erik expected her to attend with him at seven and the floral dress she’d brought to wear, she glanced at her watch. Two hours. She had two hours in which to recreate herself.

      Oh, Lord, she prayed silently, please let it be long enough to create a miracle.

      Three

      Penny knew she was late and that Erik would probably be furious with her. But she didn’t care. She was too high, too pumped with excitement to care about anything, other than her new look.

      Burdened with her purchases, she fumbled the card key for their hotel suite into the slot, pushed the toe of her shoe against the door, then hurried inside. “Mr. Thompson?” she called. “I’m back.”

      When she didn’t hear a response, she headed straight for her bedroom, wincing when she saw a piece of paper taped to the door. After dumping her purchases on her bed, she removed the note and read: “Where the hell are you? Main ballroom. Now.”

      He hadn’t even bothered signing his name.

      Refusing to let his curt note rob her of her good mood, she tossed the paper over her shoulder and dived gleefully into the pile of purchases she’d dumped on the bed. Finding the clothing bag that covered her new dress, she held it up high…and her smile slowly faded.

      I can’t do this, she cried silently, panicking. There’s no way in the world I can possibly wear in public a dress made from scarcely more fabric than that of a man’s oversize handkerchief.

      Oh, yes, you can, a voice insisted—a voice that sounded suspiciously like her friend Suzy’s. And you’re going to make Erik Thompson’s eyes pop right out of his head.

      Clutching the dress to her breasts, Penny headed for the bathroom, repeating under her breath a phrase from the story “The Little Engine that Could,” which her niece Rachel loved Penny to read.

      “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.”

      Erik tipped back his head and drained the champagne from the glass, then plunked it down on the tray of a passing waiter. He glanced toward the ballroom’s entrance for about the zillionth time since entering the room and swore under his breath when he still didn’t see a sign of his missing secretary. Scowling, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo slacks and headed for the buffet table.

      “Hey, Erik!”

      Balancing a plate on his palm, Erik glanced over his shoulder and saw his old friend Buzz Kenney bearing down on him. Relieved to find a familiar face among a sea of strangers, he plucked another skewer of grilled shrimp from the tray. He used his teeth to drag one off its end, before dropping the skewer to his plate and turning to greet his friend. “How’s it going, Buzz?”

      “Can’t complain.” Buzz slapped a bear-like hand against Erik’s back. “How ’bout you?”

      Erik’s