Cinderella and The Playboy. Laura Wright

      Abby couldn’t refute that inescapable logic. “I guess I don’t need to ask why you’re doing this. But right now my students are wondering why. And I’m sure some of them have some pretty…obscene guesses.”

      He raised a lazy brow. “Like what?”

      “That’s not funny.”

      “Why do you care so much about what people think, Abby?”

      “Why don’t you care more?” She looked directly at him, choosing her words carefully. “Look, Mr. Tanner, I don’t understand this. Why me? You must have a dozen women who would do this for you.”

      “I need a stranger,” he said simply. “I have no wish for anyone to know about it, nor do I want my…” He hesitated a moment, as if searching for just the right word. “I don’t want my female friends thinking the words C. K. Tanner and marriage belong in the same sentence. Do you understand?”

      She nodded. “I’m afraid I do.”

      “Here. Maybe this will help you decide.” He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

      With great reluctance she took it and peeked inside with as much unease as if it held a snake.

      “It’s a contract and keys to a warehouse space downtown.” He rubbed his jaw. “You can pay me the twelve dollars in advance or at the end of the year. I don’t care.”

      She pulled out the small set of keys, shock slamming through her. A whole building for a year for twelve bucks. What on earth did he expect her to do on this weekend? There had to be more to this than—

      As if reading her mind, he answered her silent queries. “Three days. That’s it. I’ll probably be down at the plant most of the time. You won’t have to see me very much.”

      That should have reassured her, so why was every traitorous part of her balking at the notion?

      “I’ll sleep on the couch,” he continued. “In the bathtub—whatever makes you comfortable.”

      She rolled her eyes. “Whatever makes me comfortable?”

      “Trust me, Abby, you have nothing to worry about.” His voice was resolute, his eyes sincere.

      She buttoned and unbuttoned the collar of her sweater nervously.

      He glanced down at the keys in her hand. “I’m sure you could find many uses for that space.”

      Darn right she could. That warehouse would save her art class. And with her own space she could hold classes on weekends for kids, for anyone who wanted to learn. But at what price? She’d be breaking a vow she’d made to herself years ago that she’d never let another Richie Rich invade her life. They were bad news. There was also the added discomfort of having to lie and deceive people she hadn’t even met.

      But the students, the kids. That was almost worth it. “You’ll sleep in the bathtub?” she asked skeptically.

      He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

      Somehow she doubted he’d ever been a Boy Scout. “Three days?”

      He nodded. “Plus time for your makeover and your briefing.”

      “I have to get a makeover?” she stammered in bewilderment. “What briefing?”

      “You need to know all about me, Abby. My habits, likes, dislikes.” He hesitated, giving her an appraising look from the tips of her vintage saddle shoes to the top of her unruly mop of hair. “You’re a beautiful woman, Abby. God knows why you’d want to hide it. But I think I know someone who can help us with that.” He retrieved his cell phone from his jacket pocket. “I’ll pick you up at your place tomorrow afternoon at one.”

      A knot formed in her stomach. “What about work?”

      “You have the next two days off.” He regarded her with serious eyes. “Courtesy of the boss. Oh, and Abby, I’d like to keep this arrangement confidential.”

      “Wait just a minute. I haven’t said I would—”

      He grinned. “Yes, you have. I saw it in your eyes when you held the keys to your new warehouse space.”

      She ground her teeth, knowing he was right and wishing with all her heart that she could just toss those keys right back at him. But the students, she thought, glancing through the window. They depended on her. And not only that, if she agreed to this farce, her children’s program could start immediately.

      She looked back at Tanner. His brown eyes practically bored straight through her. Her pulse sped up and she felt sixteen and breathless. The kind of man she’d always vowed to stay away from was going to be her “husband” for three days.

      “There will have to be some conditions,” she said firmly.

      “Of course.”

      “I’ll give you a list tomorrow.”

      “Can’t wait.” And there it was. That damn half smile again. “’Night, Abby.”

      She watched him as he walked down the hallway, cell phone to his ear. Completely unruffled and utterly pleased with himself.

      She shook her head, pretty sure she’d just made a deal with the devil. And if he took her soul, she prayed he’d leave her heart intact.

      “Are you sick or something?”

      Abby rolled her eyes at the suspicious tone in Dixie’s voice. It was lunchtime at Tanner Enterprises, and Abby had expected her friend’s call, but she hadn’t expected the overwhelming desire to tell Dixie about the upcoming weekend with their sexy boss. But unfortunately Abby knew she couldn’t say a word.

      “Abby, spill it,” Dixie demanded. “I can’t remember you ever taking a day off since you started here.”

      Abby sank deeper into her wicker chair as she stared out at the neighborhood’s midday activity from the tiny deck attached to her tiny apartment. “I have a really bad headache, that’s all,” she quickly explained. It was the truth actually. A headache that hadn’t gone away since yesterday’s mail route had taken an unusual little twist. Well, a major upset actually. And now here she was, waiting for C. K. Tanner to pick her up for a makeover.

      She was crazy to agree to this. Truly. No matter how they dolled her up, she wasn’t sophisticated or chic. She was the poor relation at best, and she wondered if she’d get through this weekend without serious damage to her self-respect.

      If she could just forget this whole thing, she would. But last night she’d told her students that their class would continue. And this morning she’d called every last parent on her waiting list to tell them that their children would have a place to study art. The deed was done.

      She was so deep in thought, she barely heard Dixie ask what she was doing for her birthday. “So, Abby, what’ll it be? Chippendales or club hopping?”

      Birthday. Oh, Lord. Sunday. She’d be in Minnesota. Thank God her parents were out of town and they’d had her birthday celebration last weekend. Having to make excuses to them would be virtually impossible.

      “I’ll be hiding under a rock,” she muttered, her mind searching in vain for another excuse when Dixie came asking again—which, of course, she would.

      Dixie snorted. “Why you hate birthdays I’ll never know. Perky people are supposed to love birthdays.”

      “I like other people’s birthdays. It’s just when I’m the one getting older—”

      “You’re turning twenty-five, for goodness sake.” Dixie sighed. “I don’t think that qualifies you for Grandma Moses status yet.”

      Abby laughed. “It’s not a vain, getting-wrinkles sorta thing, Dix. It’s a productive thing. I really wanted to have the art center up and going by now. And—”