Cinderella and The Playboy. Laura Wright

and allowed her flexible hours—she was out of the office and working on her canvas by two o’clock each afternoon—but the amount of savings she’d amassed wasn’t even close to what she needed.

      Every day she was receiving more and more calls from parents who desperately wanted their children in an art class but couldn’t afford the steep tuition at any of the art schools in town. The community center where Abby taught didn’t have programs for kids, and they’d told her emphatically that if she wanted to start one it would have to be held somewhere else. Now she had a waiting list a mile long and only a few thousand dollars saved.

      It was beginning to look as though her dream would just have to wait a little longer.

      The elevator dinged and she pushed the cart down the hall. No spirit-lifting music played on the executive floor, only the low tones of deals being made came from behind the closed doors and throughout the busy hallways. She paused in front of Mr. Tanner’s corner office, plastered on a smile, smoothed her hair back, then cursed her Irish ancestry for giving her the thickest, curliest red hair on earth as she knocked lightly on his door.

      “Enter,” came that same husky command that she’d heard every morning for the past year and a half.

      Briskly and with purpose, Abby opened the door and moved into the room. “Good morning, Mr. Tanner.”

      He glanced up and smiled. “Good morning.”

      She hesitated, her brows knitting together. She couldn’t remember him ever looking at her before, let alone smiling. Swallowing the lump that had just come into her throat, she placed his mail in the wire mesh In basket on the edge of the desk and tried to ignore the spicy scent of his cologne, which always seemed to throw her for a loop whenever she got too close. “Your mail, sir.”

      His smile widened and warmed. “Thank you, Abby.”

      She froze. Abby? She had no idea that C. K. Tanner even knew her name. What was going on here? And why was he giving her that smile—that unnerving, sexy and very Lancelot-like smile?

      Blackbeard, Abby. Think Blackbeard.

      “Well, have a good day, sir,” she said, turning quickly to go. But the sleeve of her blouse had other plans, catching itself on the wire basket. Laughing nervously, she tugged on the stubborn fabric, trying to free herself. But it wouldn’t budge. She gave it one last swift pull, but only managed to send the basket of mail flying. On a gasp, she lunged to catch it, hearing her shirt tear as she landed gracelessly.

      With her heart slamming against her ribs and a shaky smile plastered on her face, she raised the basket up in a sad show of victory, only to catch C. K. Tanner’s more customary hawk-like stare. Ah, that was more like it, she thought as she leveled her gaze with his own. Trying to pretend that she was calm and unruffled, she stood and set the basket down firmly.

      Right onto the lip of his coffee cup.

      Suffocating her gasp behind her hand, she watched the dark stain spread menacingly across his desk.

      “Ohmigod,” she breathed, hearing him rush up beside her. “I’ll clean this up right away.”

      “It’s not a problem.” His strong hands were on her shoulders, pulling her close to his side and away from the hot liquid, even as he rang for his secretary with the push of a button. “Helen, send housekeeping with some paper towels.”

      Forgetting who he was and who she was for a moment, Abby glanced up at him—all six feet, two inches of him. Thick black hair, just a little wavy, licked the edges of his starched white collar. Olive skin, chiseled features, full lips and eyes the color of chocolate.

      It was a stubborn, arrogant face, but drop-dead gorgeous nonetheless. With that half smile and bedroom gaze, he was the cover of a men’s magazine and the star of every woman’s fantasy. And he fitted his gray pinstripe suit like nobody’s business, while displaying an imposing confidence that permeated the air around him.

      She could see why every woman in this building had a crush on him. And why her best course of action was to get as far away from him as possible—as soon as possible.

      But she didn’t move.

      He held her loosely against his side, those bedroom eyes now filled with concern. “Are you all right?”

      The warmth of him, his strength against her, sent currents of heat zipping through her blood. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tanner. I must’ve taken a clumsy pill with my vitamins this morning.”

      Finally he released her and she felt as though she could breathe again. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’ll be cleaned up momentarily.”

      As he walked back behind his desk, a woman from housekeeping entered and silently mopped up the mess. She was gone in seconds, and Abby turned to make her own hasty retreat. She wasn’t about to hang around and give him time to fire her.

      “Please stay for a moment, Abby.” His words stopped her and she looked over her shoulder to see him smiling at her—again—his deep-brown eyes roaming her face. I’ll bet he’s one great kisser.

      Before she could scold herself for such an outrageous thought, he asked, “Can I get you a safety pin or…”

      Abby put her hand over the tear in her white blouse. “It’s nothing. I can take care of it.” And I should go.

      “I insist. If you tell me the name of the boutique where you shop, I’ll have a new one here in an hour.”

      Abby tried not laugh. Mostly because it might come out as a wheeze, but also because he’d said “boutique.” She’d gotten that blouse for ten dollars at a discount store. “It’s not necessary, I have another shirt in my locker, but thank you.” Of course, she didn’t have anything in her locker but chewing gum and an extra pair of nylons, but she wasn’t going to share that with him. All she wanted to do now was get out of C. K. Tanner’s office before he gave her two weeks to clear out that locker and never come back.

      “How long have you worked for me, Abby?”

      Oh, here it comes. “A little over a year, sir.”

      As he eased into his brown leather chair, he motioned for her to take the seat opposite. “Why don’t you sit down for a moment.”

      Abby bit her lip. “Uh…yes, sir.”

      “I’d like to talk to you about something.”

      She perched at the very edge of the seat and blurted it out. “Am I being fired? I’m very sorry about the coffee. And that small fire in the mail room last week really wasn’t my fault.”

      She thought she saw a hint of laughter behind his eyes, but it passed as he said, “I’m going to Minnesota for the weekend to spend some time with the head of a certain candy corporation. I’m interested in buying his company.”

      Abby cocked her head to the side. Why in the world was C. K. Tanner sharing this information with her? And, Lord, what was the proper response? She opted for a short congratulatory speech. “How…nice for you, sir. I’m sure it will be a very good invest—”

      He stopped her with just a lift of his brow. “The catch is, I’m fairly certain he wants the company to go to a family man. And as I’m not married or even in the market to be, I find myself in a disconcerting position.” He leaned back in his chair. “Abby, I need you to pretend that you’re my wife.”

      Abby hesitated, blinking with bewilderment, not at all sure she’d heard him correctly.

      “Don’t misunderstand me. This is strictly a business trip. I need you to act the part of my wife just for the weekend.”

      Okay, she had heard him correctly, but that knowledge brought little comfort.

      He crossed his arms over his rather broad chest. “I’m afraid I’m one of those abrupt, come-to-the-point kind of businessmen.”

      She nodded and managed to choke out, “To say the least.”