The Millionaire And The Glass Slipper. Christine Flynn

off for the duration. Candace always had a man in her life. She went out more in a month than Amy had in the past two years. It was just that Amy’s obligations to Jill, the agency and her grandma—and the fact that her frequent visits to Edna seemed to be a turnoff for some men—had kept her from getting beyond a few first dates and casual friendships. Then there was what Candace called her totally naive belief in happily-ever-after instead of happy-enough-for-now.

      She’d always wanted the fairy tale. She wanted a man she loved who loved her back. She wanted family to be as important to him as it was to her. She wanted to have children with him, to share with him, to grow old with him. As long as she was thinking about it, it also would be nice if the guy made her feel what she’d so fleetingly experienced with Jared Taylor. Even the pleasant sensations she’d felt from a couple of the more charming frogs she’d kissed hadn’t touched her in as many ways as just being held by that man.

      For now, though, she’d just take care of the mail, hurry to the printers to pick up the copies of the family photos she’d had made for Edna with the hope of jogging her failing memory—and promise herself that the next time she saw Jared Taylor, she wouldn’t let preoccupation with her personal concerns embarrass her again. It had been worry about her grandmother distracting her when she’d so unceremoniously plowed into him by the reception desk.

      Unfortunately, a little over a week later, that same concern had just compounded itself. She just didn’t have time to deal with that worry at the moment. Fifteen minutes before he was to arrive for his preliminary presentation, she received a reply to her latest e-mail request for a routine credit check on their newest client. Like the other companies from which she’d requested information, this one claimed no credit, employment or academic history available on an architect named Jared Taylor.

      Professionally, the man didn’t seem to exist.