her exactly what they wanted and they always wanted the same thing. As for the guest list, people had always flocked to see her parents’ art, so her main task had been whittling the list down to manageable proportions. Her role had always been a quiet one both in planning the party and in keeping records of her parents’ work.
Lucas folded his arms over his chest, which only served to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders and made her feel even smaller than she was. A small smile lifted his lips. As if he knew what she was thinking. She hoped he didn’t know what she was thinking.
“Your parents, Ann and Theo Patchett, certainly set the world on fire with their flair for design and their talent with stained and blown glass. I understand that you traveled with them everywhere, were at their side at every event, and I imagine that you were born making things happen.”
But he imagined wrong, Genevieve thought. Her parents had been personalities and she had learned how to do all the things they wanted, how to dress and walk and talk and smile and how to quietly live in the large shadow they cast, how to bolster their egos. There was nothing powerful about her. And in recent history, nothing wise. After her parents’ deaths, she had been taken in by a con man, one her parents had adored and introduced her to. She had been engaged to that con man, robbed by him and dumped by him, too. She hadn’t made things happen.
Apparently, Lucas McDowell thought otherwise. Should she tell him the truth?
No, you’re good at following orders. Just … follow orders and try to do what he tells you. If he hires you, that is.
“Your parents decorated some of the most luxurious homes in the world,” he was saying. “Teresa caught me just when I was going to begin interviewing candidates. I need someone who knows decorating and has organizational skills. I’m extremely interested in that kind of talent.”
Genevieve wondered exactly what Teresa had told Lucas and how well he actually knew Teresa. Teresa was a smart woman, no doubt she’d been a good employee, but she had no aversion to embellishing a story, either. If Lucas thought that Genevieve was a creative genius like her parents and if he found out the truth … Genevieve couldn’t brazenly lie, not after what had happened with Barry. She opened her mouth to say that she was nothing like her parents, then shut it again. Wasn’t there some way she could make this work out for both herself and Lucas?
“I don’t have my parents’ experience on a commercial level or … okay, on any level,” she said truthfully, “but I have spent my whole life in beautiful rooms, admiring them, studying them for long hours, in some cases cataloguing the details when my parents wanted assistance.” Which wasn’t what he was looking for at all, she didn’t think, but … he studied her closely.
She tried not to squirm or to think of him as a gorgeous man. That was so not relevant. Her trust had been betrayed many times in her life in small ways, but never so thoroughly as it had been with Barry. Love—being blinded by a man—had been her downfall. It wasn’t happening again. Even if the incident with the beautiful brunette hadn’t taken place, Teresa had already warned her that Lucas had a solid reputation as a fast-moving rolling stone and a heartbreaker who never really let his guard down with a woman. She’d also said that he was totally tempting, but she needn’t have bothered.
It doesn’t matter how astoundingly virile he is, Gen thought. She didn’t want a man. Of any kind. All that she wanted right now was work. Money. Salvation. A new life where she would stand on her own two feet, order her own world and rely on no one. Trust no one. Love no one. Simple rules.
But first she had to get the job. She looked up to find Lucas studying her closely.
“Who chose your outfit?” he suddenly asked.
“Excuse me?” She blinked and lurched in her chair, but she quickly regained her calm expression. What an odd question, but … so what? Maybe he was just some sort of eccentric. As long as he wasn’t a lecher or an ax murderer—and she’d never read anything that indicated that he was either of those—nothing else mattered beyond the fact that he had a job that needed filling.
“I chose it.” Okay, she’d had it made. She’d had plenty of money at the time.
“Hmm.”
Genevieve tried to keep from responding to that. And lost the battle. “Is that a bad ‘hmm’?”
“It’s an interested one.” He looked at her bronze skirt and dark gold blouse with the small, cream-colored star-shaped glass buttons she’d made herself, each one slightly asymmetrical and different from the next. “The effect is muted, tasteful, in some ways even a bit old-fashioned.” Which was right. This was one of the oldest outfits she had. “But the buttons are … most unusual. They’re a bit out of step with the rest of your attire, but in spite of being a bit unconventional, they work. It’s an outfit, not a room that needs decorating, but the skills are related. You know about color and planning and how to mix things up so that the big picture works. And the colors complement your red hair.”
Genevieve was grateful that he hadn’t used the word fiery. Her parents hadn’t cared for her hair’s particular shade of red and had tried to get her to dye it many times. Barry had hated it, preferring blondes. Or at least preferring the blonde he’d spent Genevieve’s money on. In her one act of defiance she’d kept the color but had toned things down by pulling her hair back and out of the way in a severe ponytail that made her hair less noticeable. Or so she’d hoped.
“The skirt is too short, though,” Lucas said suddenly, and automatically Genevieve looked down to her crossed legs. The skirt exposed her knees and a bit more.
She bit her lip.
“Say it,” he said.
“I’m … sorry,” she said, although she wasn’t sorry. She was chagrined. Lucas was either not going to hire her or he was going to be very difficult to work for. “I … this is the length I usually wear my skirts. Will this be a problem with your dress code?”
Lucas looked amused. “I don’t have one. I just wanted to know if you would defend your choice.”
“I—” She wanted to tell him that he was being unfair. She was interviewing and was afraid to argue with a potential employer. But telling someone they were being unfair wasn’t her style. She was the “go along to get along” type. And right now she was scared and nervous and tired and hungry.
“I wish you wouldn’t play games with me,” she said, surprising herself. Maybe she was more tired than she’d realized, because she was definitely acting stupid. What man would hire someone who reprimanded him? She opened her mouth to apologize.
Too late. Lucas was already speaking. “You’re right. My comment was unfair, given the circumstances. So, let’s just do this. For the rest of this interview, you try turning off the nerves and act exactly the way you would if you were already working for me. All right?”
“And …” She swallowed hard. “That is … what if you don’t like the way I act?”
He shrugged. “I won’t hire you. The minute I have an inkling of doubt I’ll end the interview. Is that fair?”
It was terrifying. “Are you always this frank, Mr. McDowell?” If he hired her, would she be on full alert every hour she was on the job?
“Always.”
He stared directly into her eyes, and she couldn’t look away. That intense expression of his … she felt as if he was daring her to object to his tactics. Genevieve’s body began to hum with awareness. This man was very potent, and the fact that he held her future in his hands was very scary, but she had told herself that she preferred truth to deception and just because that truth was unnerving wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Because
Lucas McDowell hadn’t ended the interview yet. She still had a chance to get back on to solid ground.
“I think … I’m good with all this, Mr. McDowell. You’re being fair.”
“I’m