Nancy Robards - Accidental Cinderella

Finally, Chandler tilted his head to one side in a regal gesture and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

Feeling suddenly shy and exhausted, Lindsay tried to let him off the hook. “Please don’t feel obligated to entertain me.”

She was the kind of wrung-out tired that made even the thought of dancing feel like an effort. Since she was leaving tomorrow, what she really wanted to do was go upstairs and enjoy one last long, hot soak in that huge, marble tub in her suite.

“Dancing with you, Miss Bingham, would be my honor,” said Carson. “Besides, I have something I need to talk to you about.”

“Oh. Well, then.” How could she deny a man his honor? One quick dance wouldn’t hurt. In fact, she might even be back before Carlos returned with the champagne. “But please call me Lindsay.”

She took his arm and walked back into the ballroom with him. When he smiled, he vaguely reminded her of Ricardo Montalbán sans accent. Of course he would. Because wasn’t St. Michel Fantasy Island? How could she have missed that? A place where her best friend got to be a princess and Lindsay had been able to play Cinderella. For an entire month.

Here she was at the ball. Even though tomorrow her coach would turn back into a pumpkin and she’d board a plane homeward bound for Trevard, she’d had the time of her life.

Of course, she wished her Cinderella fantasy came with Prince Charming and happily-ever-after. But as Carson Chandler whirled her around the gilded and mirrored ballroom, she glanced up at the crystal chandeliers, admiring the way the light played through the facets, illuminating the cut crystal like brilliant diamonds.

How many women got to attend a royal wedding in their lifetime? She should be grateful for the experience, even if the handsome prince didn’t come chasing her across the Atlantic to see if the slipper fit.

Her gaze wandered back to the doors to the terrace. She wondered if Carlos was back yet. She hoped he didn’t think she’d run out on him. Surely he’d wait. Wouldn’t he? A ridiculous tangled sense of conflict flooded through her.

Oh, well. They’d just met and tomorrow she’d go home. Her “New Me” plan didn’t call for leaving one Jimmy Choo behind on the palace step with the slim hope a man—even Carlos Montigo—would find it and bring it to her on the other side of the ocean.

“The princess tells me you’ve worked in television, Miss Bingham.”

Carson’s voice startled her back to the present.

“Excuse me?”

The orchestra was loud. She must not have heard him correctly. He leaned in closer. A little too close for Lindsay’s comfort.

“You’re such a beautiful woman. Actually, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we were introduced earlier this week. Princess Sophie tells me you have broadcast journalism experience?”

Her cheeks warmed and graceless dread unfurled in her belly, working its way up until it blocked the words to explain her short-lived journalistic career. The question unlocked a door in the recesses of her mind behind which she’d stashed a very bad memory. The memory of an incident that cost Lindsay her dream.

“I was curious about the type of television work you’d done?”

Sophie was one of the few people who knew of this thwarted dream. Why would she tell Chandler?

“I don’t know what Sophie told you.” Or more important, why. “But in college, I majored in broadcast journalism, and I reported for a network affiliate for a short time.”

“Why for only a short while? I have a feeling the camera would love your face.”

Lindsay stiffened, suddenly aware of his hand on the small of her back. Nothing improper, but now the door that had been closed tight for years had opened and a flood of bad memories…of a powerful man taking advantage…poured out.

“Relax, Miss Bingham, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m a happily married man.”

Okay.

She felt a little silly for jumping to conclusions. With her penchant for bad boys, obviously, she was no prude, but those relationships had always been mutual and consensual. Even if the men in her past had ended up being bad choices, she’d never sold herself for a job. And she never would. That’s why she’d left the television industry in the first place.

“You didn’t answer my question, Miss Bingham. Why are you no longer working in television?”

She wished she’d simply told him she had no experience rather than opening this can of worms. Oh, Sophie, what did you do?

“It just wasn’t the career for me.”

Again, his hand pressed into the small of her back as he gently led into a turn on the dance floor.

“Do you work now?” he asked.

She laughed. She couldn’t help it.

“Well, yes. Of course I do. Not everyone here is royalty or independently wealthy.”

Ugh, that sounded rude. She hadn’t meant it to.

“I work for Trevard County Social Services in North Carolina. That’s how I know Sophie.”

“The same line of work as the princess’s former job?”

“No. Not exactly.”

“Well, what exactly do you do?”

She bristled. Why the game of fifty questions? She wasn’t embarrassed by where she came from or that she’d chosen not to be a television talking head. She had an honest job. That was more than some could say—those who had no qualms about sleeping with a married man on their quest to the anchor desk.

“I’m the office manager.”

“And do you enjoy your work, Miss Bingham?”

No.

“It’s Lindsay.” She glanced up at him, frowning. “Do you always ask so many questions, Mr. Chandler?”

“Only when I’m trying to decide if I’ll invite someone to interview for a job.”

A job?

The music stopped. Carson Chandler escorted Lindsay off the dance floor.

Wait! What job?

As they reached the edge of the parquet, he said. “Thank you for the dance. Miss Bingham, er, Lindsay, Chandler Guides produces a three-minute segment that airs on Food TV between full-length shows. It’s called The Diva Dishes. The spots highlight travel, food and festivities of various destinations. Have you seen the spots?”

Lindsay nodded. She was addicted to Food TV.

“The mini-sodes, if you will, have the potential to boost the sales of our travel guides. But in the first year, increases didn’t live up to our expectations. Because of that we let the host go. She didn’t have that diva spark I was looking for. That je ne sais quoi that captivates.”

He paused and put a hand to Lindsay’s chin, looking her over appraisingly. “You really do have the most exquisite eyes, my dear. I’m sure everyone tells you so.”

Lindsay’s guard went up again like steel trapdoors. She was just about to pull away, a split second before Chandler dropped his hand.

“I digress,” he continued. “Monday, right here in St. Michel, we will conclude auditions for the new host. The person we choose will start right away because we’re taping this weekend at the St. Michel Food and Wine Festival. I’m inviting you to audition.”

Every nerve in Lindsay’s body went on hyperalert. The St. Michel Food and Wine Festival? Wasn’t that the event Carlos mentioned?

But…but she couldn’t audition. She was flying out tomorrow. Mary was expecting her back at work bright and early Monday morning. Plus, Chandler made her uncomfortable. Brought back too many bad memories.

He must have read the hesitancy in her expression, or perhaps she didn’t return a properly enthusiastic response.

“Hundreds have auditioned, Lindsay. To be quite honest, you will be the only one we see Monday. I’m sure I needn’t remind you that you have a fabulous friend in the princess. She was quite generous with her praise of you, and quite convincing that you are the diva for whom I’ve been searching.”