The C.e.o. and The Secret Heiress. Mary Anne Wilson

hands for the murals. Tell me you can make this all happen.”

      Brittany pieced together what she thought was going on, that this woman thought she was someone looking for a job doing some graphic art on the walls of this place. She loved art, always had, and in her meandering path through higher education, had had a lot of classes in both traditional art and graphics. The thought was intriguing. It was too bad she wasn’t here for that job instead of a desk job under this man’s eagle eye.

      “It’s got real possibilities,” she said, turning slowly in a circle to look at the space.

      “You’ve got ideas already?” Amy asked.

      As Brittany looked around at the partially domed ceiling over the tree, and the way the branches were suspended toward both side walls, she knew she did have ideas. Ideas that tumbled over each other. “It’s a babysitting thing, like preschool?” she asked.

      “Day care. Both all day, and before and after school, so the kids range from babies to preteen.”

      It could be great. She looked back at Amy, trying to ignore the man watching her so intently. “You want art on the walls and ceiling?”

      “Both, or just the walls, whatever you think would be the most stunning and appropriate. It’s for the kids. Period. It doesn’t have to please adults.”

      Pleasing adults. That phrase brought her dad into the picture. She could do this. She knew she could, and her father hadn’t said just what she had to do here. But as she glanced back and caught Matt’s eye, she knew that he’d never let her do this. He’d never turn her loose with paint and bare walls. Never. She looked away from him, glancing at a short hallway that she knew led out to the reception area.

      “I could do this,” she said, as much for herself as for them. “I’d like to try.” And as she spoke, she knew this was the only way she’d get a chance without her father stepping in and calling in more favors. “I really would like to try,” she said, looking back at Amy and trying to ignore the man in black. “I’ve got some ideas.”

      “Okay, but the last person who came in wanted to do wild animals all over the walls, and…” She motioned to the ceiling. “He wanted to do panthers on the ceiling as if they were coming out of the trees. I don’t mind telling you it gave me the chills. Can you imagine what it would do to a child trying to nap and seeing that?”

      Ideas were coming to her fast and furious. “I wasn’t thinking of wild animals.”

      “What do you see this all becoming?” Amy asked.

      She told her with growing enthusiasm the images she was getting. “If it’s for the kids, I see the kids on the walls, circles of them, dancing, playing. The real kids. You know, the ones who are regulars here. They’d be in the art, part of it, and ringing the walls, as if playing ‘Ring Around the Rosey’ in a play yard.” She looked up. “And the ceiling, it’s the sky, just a simple sky, a pale blue, maybe a rainbow on the far side, and clouds, puffy balls of white cotton suspended by fishing line from the ceiling. All about the kids. As if it was their world.”

      She knew she’d gotten carried away, talking quickly, trying to make them see what she could see in her mind, and she was high on excitement. And pleasure that she could do this. That was the best part of all. She saw it, and she could make it happen. She’d never experienced anything like that before. She looked at Amy who was staring overhead.

      “Oh, my, that’s wonderful,” Amy said softly, then glanced at Brittany. “I can see it, too. And it’s perfect. The center’s called Just for Kids and it truly would be. I love it.”

      “You’ve done a lot of this sort of work?” Matt asked, cutting into her euphoria, and drawing her attention to where he stood with his arms folded on his chest. He wouldn’t let her do anything. As soon as he knew she was Brittany Lewis, he’d laugh her right out of here, and it would be over. And, when he found out who she was, that was the nicest outcome she could imagine.

      “No, I haven’t, not really,” she said honestly.

      Amy touched her on the arm. “If you’ve got the talent to make it happen, I don’t see what lack of experience has to do with anything. Maybe you’re just finding your gift in art. This could be it.”

      It could be it. She wanted it to be it. “I can do it.”

      “Maybe we could see your portfolio, Miss—” Amy smiled at her. “I still don’t know your name.”

      She stared at Amy, but sensed Matt moving, coming closer to her, stirring the air, and she never said the words, “I’m Brittany Lewis, the spoiled-rotten daughter of Robert Lewis.”

      No, she wasn’t going to admit that, not here, not now, and she wasn’t going to let this go, either. She could do it, please her father in the long run, and best of all, if it worked the way she thought it could, she’d prove that she was a viable, worthwhile person, instead of the brat Matt and Amy expected to appear with that name.

      She felt an odd fluttering in her middle, and avoided the name thing. “My portfolio, it…” She couldn’t say it was at a chateau south of Paris. “I’m sorry, I forgot to bring it.”

      “If you can do what you say you can do, I’d love to have you give us a proposal and I can look at your portfolio then. I need something to send to my boss. Something she can see so she knows where this is going. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the only one in the running for the job at this moment.”

      “That’s great,” she said, feeling as if she’d just jumped over an incredible hurdle in her life. She’d been told she had art talent, but qualifications had always gone with the praise: if she could learn to apply herself…if she bothered to use it…if she ever decided what she wanted to do with it. Right then, she knew what she wanted to do. “When do you need it all?”

      “As soon as possible. We’re in a bit of a time crunch, but if it’s a problem for you—”

      “No, I’ll have something for you by tomorrow. Do I bring it here?”

      “No, the workmen will be all over the place. Bring it up to the sixth floor. You’ll see colored doors with Just for Kids written on them. I’ll be in there.” There was a beeping sound, then Amy took a pager out of the pocket of her overalls. She glanced down at it to read the printout on the small LED screen. “Taylor’s awake.” She looked at Brittany. “My daughter. I need to get upstairs or she’ll pitch a fit.”

      “Amy?” Matt said to get Amy’s attention before she took off. “I know how much this center means to Lindsey and Zane, but we’re still doing business here.”

      “Of course. And we’re within budget, aren’t we?”

      “That’s not it. It’s about that kid who was in here. You can’t let them run around without supervision. That little hoodlum that attacked me was probably the one who opened the door, and he was looking for trouble. He needs to be kept under lock and key.”

      Amy shook her head. “He can’t be one of our kids. First of all, they’re always supervised, and secondly, the after-school kids are long gone. But I’ll check and if he’s one of ours, it won’t happen again.”

      Matt nodded, then Amy turned to Brittany. “I can’t wait for tomorrow.” That smile came again. “And I still don’t know who you are.”

      Brittany stared at Amy, and was startled when Matt spoke up. “You do have a name, don’t you?”

      Brittany looked at Matt. “Of course I have a name,” she said and remembered something her father had told her many times over the years. “If you want something, you use whatever you need to make it happen.” She wanted this to happen, and she would do whatever it took to prove she wasn’t a spoiled brat. She’d do it and he wouldn’t have to know who she was for now.

      “B. J. Smythe,” she said, putting together an old nickname with her mother’s maiden name. “And it’s Smythe,