Trish Wylie - The Bachelor's Cinderella

She forced herself to look away. “I’m glad we did the painting ourselves,” she said, trying to change the subject quickly so that he wouldn’t notice her staring. “It was fun. I love having the chance to relax and just get messy.”

“I love watching you get messy,” he said suddenly, affection deepening his voice.

Her breath caught in her throat. “I…”

“You’re shocked that I said that about you. Frankly, so am I,” he said, his voice washing over her. She couldn’t turn around. She was too afraid that the naked desire in her eyes would be visible.

“You’re right about the satisfaction involved in doing this ourselves,” he said. “I could have paid to have someone paint, but it’s a task everyone here could take part in. And when I’m gone, I want to leave you in charge, but as I’ve mentioned, I want the employees to own the company. When people own something, they fight for it. Painting the office was a start to staking their claim. By their own hands they’ve improved it.”

Then Meg couldn’t stay turned away from him anymore. “You are going to be missed.”

“I’m still here for a number of weeks,” he said. “And we’re not even close to done yet. Even today…”

“A new lesson for me?” she asked.

“Not quite.” He reached out and lifted a long strand of her hair. “You have golden lights in your hair,” he said. No one had ever said anything like that to her, especially not with that appreciative tone of voice. Meg swallowed hard. “You also have paint in your hair. I’m taking you to a stylist.”

“You’re going to cut my hair?” She almost whispered the words. Why did the thought alarm her? She had no reason to be vain about her hair. It was just plain brown hair.

“I wouldn’t think of it, unless, of course, that was what you wanted. It’s your hair and a very personal part of you, Meg. I’m just suggesting that we shape it and cut out the paint. Would that be all right?”

He was asking her to trust him, though he hadn’t said the words. She wanted to say yes. Unlike painting, styling her hair was one of those things she wasn’t good at. Her father had disliked any reminders that he had produced a second, unwanted daughter and watching Meg fuss with her hair had always made him snarl. So she hadn’t developed the skill. As for trusting Etienne, hadn’t trusting people been what got her into so much trouble over the years? She wanted Etienne’s help but she also needed to retain some pieces of herself.

“I’d like to talk to the stylist myself,” she ventured.

He nodded. “Of course. Do you have a favorite one?”

“I don’t have one at all.”

“All right. I can take care of that.”

In no time at all, they were in a shop where the chairs were more luxurious than her furniture at home. The stylist, Daniel, asked her what she had in mind.

Panic ensued, and Meg sighed. She turned to Etienne. “I have no clue, but…” she maintained. “At least I got to say that much.”

Etienne chuckled. “You did. You took charge, and if at any time during this procedure you’re alarmed at how it’s going we can stop.”

“No,” Daniel said. “I’m an artist. I don’t do things halfway.”

“I respect that,” Etienne said. “But Meg is a person, and I don’t want her to have any regrets.”

“She won’t.”

Etienne gave Meg a look. She knew that she had to be wearing that total panic mode expression.

“Long,” Etienne said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Just clean it up, shape it. Take as little off the length as possible.”

And just like that, knowing that Etienne wasn’t going to let her turn into a disaster zone, Meg relaxed. “About two inches shorter than what it is, I think,” she said. “Shoulder length.”

“Good,” Daniel said. “You’d look good with some layers framing your face. Just a bit for softness. And bangs. Not everyone can carry off bangs, even though most people think they can. You can.”

“Daniel thinks I can wear bangs,” she said to Etienne. “What do you think about that?” All these compliments might have gone to her head if she wasn’t so thoroughly grounded in reality.

“I think Daniel is an artist,” Etienne said with a smile. “You know how you feel about painting? Well, I’d say that Daniel feels that way about hair.”

She looked up at the tall, bony man who was waiting a bit impatiently. “Sorry for all the discussion and nail biting. It’s a life changing issue. But…okay. You’re the artist. Give me bangs.”

He did, and they were full and bouncy and Meg loved them. The soft tendrils that swept across her cheekbones made her feel feminine. When they left the shop she glanced in the window outside to see her dim and wavy reflection.

“It still looks as good as it did in the shop,” Etienne told her.

“Thank you,” she said.

“It was all Daniel,” Etienne told her.

But it hadn’t been. No one else had ever even seemed to care what her hair looked like. Of course, this was just all part of the deal she had struck with Etienne, but he could have simply given her a few tips on how to go on in the business world. Although she had used the word transformation, she hadn’t expected to feel so different and free and…aware of herself as a woman.

“Then thank you for taking me to Daniel,” she insisted. “You are a great person.”

But her comment didn’t elicit Etienne’s customary charming, dimpled smile. She missed it.

ETIENNE knew he had to be careful with Meg. She had been so joyful, even grateful after Daniel had turned her already pretty hair beautiful. And she was starting to think that Etienne was better than he was.

That would be disastrous. With his annual anniversary date drawing nearer, dread was starting to creep in now and then. He was far too aware of who and what he was. If Meg saw him as a good guy, and he ended up disappointing her…If her faith in him led to him harming her in any way…

It wasn’t going to happen.

For the next week he threw himself into work, trying to map out every angle, to figure out all the ways to make Fieldman’s come back to life. He and Meg oversaw the day-to-day operations, the cleanup of the building. He bought new computers, had the outside of the building sandblasted and had the new sign installed.

A photographer came and took photos of the interior, the exterior and of the three sample pieces of furniture Don Handry had managed to complete in record time.

Not trusting himself to spend too much time alone with Meg, Etienne drove himself, but the day came when there was no getting around what came next. He had a feeling Meg was going to…what was the term? Freak out just a little.

After everyone went home, he walked over to the open door of her office and peeked inside. She was bent over her desk, her soft, pretty hair swaying softly. As she worked, she ran those pretty long fingers over the keys of the keyboard gracefully, her eyes intent on the screen. She had no idea that he was there.

Etienne cleared his throat, and she jumped. One hand fluttered at her throat. She was wearing a plain white blouse and a navy skirt today. Very prim, except for the three red bracelets that clanked on her wrists and the red toes of her navy pumps. Meg certainly loved red. And red loved Meg, he couldn’t help noticing. It looked good against her pale skin. Which was as far as he was going to allow himself to take that train of thought.

“I’m sorry that I startled you, but I had something I needed to speak to you about,” he said.

“Of course,” she said, rising as he entered the room.

“I have to apologize to you,” he said.

“For what?”