Feet First

In her own wacky way, he supposed she was right. But how was he supposed to keep a lid on his cousin if she wanted drama during her shoe selection?

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some champagne, too?” Jenny asked, clearly sensing his mood. “Or some Scotch?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m fine.” Someone had to think clearly here. “Drama is okay. Let’s just make sure it’s planned so it shows well.”

“Okay,” she said, lifting her glass for a refill. Jenny immediately filled it. “This is going to be so fun. A reality show about my wedding. Even Daddy is pleased.”

“A reality show?” Jenny said, shooting Marc a questioning glance.

“Oh, yeah,” Brooke said. “Didn’t Marc tell you?” She swatted at him. “Shame on you.”

“We hadn’t released a press statement yet.”

Brooke giggled. “Oops. I may have let it slip last night.”

Marc’s stomach began to burn. The reality show could take Bellagio Shoes to a new level. He was ready for that new level, but since he’d been given the assignment to make sure Bellagio was portrayed in only the best light, he didn’t know how in hell he could accomplish that without some control. And even though Brooke was engaged, she still wasn’t under control. He knew the wedding was being put together in a rush due to her father’s deadline. Brooke had put off committing herself until the last moment.

“That’s okay,” Jenny said. “Sometimes rumors can be more important than the truth.”

Brooke’s smile fell, and for a sliver of a second she turned serious. “How true.” She took another sip and gave a hard laugh. “And I’m an expert at generating rumors.” She pushed her glasses back in place. “Marc will make it all turn out right. That’s why the almighty Alfredo Bellagio put him in charge. He’s young, he looks great on camera, and he’s so level-headed he could run the country blindfolded, let alone Bellagio Shoes.” Brooke glanced at her watch. “My time here is done. Do you mind if I take the rest of those truffles?”

“Not at all,” Jenny said, offering her the plate and a napkin.

“And if you don’t mind, I think I’ll top off this glass and take it with me, too.”

Jenny picked up the bottle and paused. “You’re not driving, are you?” she asked.

“Nope. I’m being chauffeured today. Daddy’s orders.” She pursed her mouth into a kiss while Jenny topped off her champagne. “See you later, Marc. Don’t work so hard. You’re starting to remind me of my dad and that’s not good. Ciao!” she said and left the room.

Complete silence followed.

“Are you sure you don’t want some Scotch?”

Marc met Jenny’s gaze. “I’m sure. Now you know what we’re doing. Brooke seems to like your stuff. Are you up for the whole project?”

The champagne bottle hanging limply in her hand, she stared at him looking like a deer caught in headlights. “What do you mean she likes my stuff? The whole project?”

“I mean Sal didn’t really tell you he was at the doctor this morning, did he?” he asked.

She swallowed. “No, but he’s been having some problems, so I thought—”

“You thought he was at the doctor?”

She bit her lip but said nothing.

Loyal to the end, he thought. She would be perfect for the job. “Sal’s in rehab. He called me after you and I talked.”

Her jaw dropped. “Oh.”

“Surprised?”

She met his gaze then looked away, her eyebrows furrowing. “I’m glad for him to get any help he might need. He’s been a wonderful boss.”

“And mentor,” Marc said, and watched Jenny snap her head up. “When I told him his timing was terrible, he said you’ve been covering for him for months. Called you creative, brilliant, innovative. He said you could handle the shoe designs for this wedding with no problem. So, are you game or not?”

CHAPTER TWO

STUNNED, JENNY FELT her hands go limp. The bottle of champagne slid through her fingers. She tried to grasp for it, but she felt as if she were moving in slow motion.

Marc moved in a split second and caught the bottle just as it hit the floor.

Jenny shook her head and winced. “Sorry. I, uh.” She shook her head. “Great save.”

He nodded and stood in front of her. “You’ll need to be briefed by the PR Department and they’ll require you to take a few lessons. The worst part is you’ll have to deal with Brooke until this is all over, and you won’t get credit for your designs. We’re trying to build the name of Sal Amoré by Bellagio as the premier line in evening and bridal shoes. I wasn’t sure if you could do it, but Sal insisted you could. He told me to take a second look at your résumé. I didn’t know you’d attended design school and even did an apprenticeship with one of our competitors.”

She didn’t know that, either. Jenny dropped her jaw in shock. Marc must have gotten her résumé mixed up with someone else’s. Jenny had never attended design school unless one counted the pottery class she’d taken. And she’d never apprenticed with one of their competitors unless one counted her stint as sales person in Rice’s Department Store Shoe Department.

She should correct him. She really should correct him, she thought. “I think there’s been some confusion,” she began.

Marc lifted his hand. “Sal warned me that you wouldn’t want to take credit. He told me not to let you pull the modesty act.”

“It’s no act,” she insisted. “I haven’t—”

Marc cut her off again. “The company needs you for this,” he said.

Jenny opened her mouth to try to set Marc straight again, but something niggled in the back of her mind. When Sal had first hired her, he’d mentioned in an offhand way that he needed to fill in some blanks on her résumé for the Personnel Department. She’d thought he’d meant her recent change of address and social security number for health insurance.

How embarrassing. She should correct Marc right this minute.

And give up the opportunity of a lifetime just because she didn’t go to design school.

She should correct him. It was the right thing to do.

“Of course you’ll get a promotion and salary increase,” Marc said.

She felt herself tilt to the dark side. A promotion. A real promotion, not the move from French-fry cooker to front end clerk at Burger King. Her mind whirled with possibilities. It was okay that she wouldn’t get credit, she thought, but still felt a little pinch. The feeling surprised her. She’d thought she would be content to anonymously doodle and create until she reached retirement, but maybe she wasn’t. So she had an ego after all. She wanted some credit, too. She frowned in irritation. What a pain in the butt for this to show up now.

“What would my title be?”

“Associate designer. What else do you want?”

Good question, she thought, drawing a blank. The only time she could remember someone asking her what she wanted was in reference to food choice, and it usually involved takeout. “I’m not—” She sighed. “I need to think about that, if it’s okay with you.”

He studied her and nodded slowly. “Okay. We can talk tomorrow.”

She nodded. “That will work,” she murmured, seeing his Italian heritage in his dark hair and tanned skin and his Scottish ancestry in his strong bone structure and blue-gray eyes. He has great eyebrows, she thought. This was the first time she’d been close enough to really notice.

He frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look shell-shocked.”