Accidental Cinderella

“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.”

An awkward pause followed this unexpected compliment. Boy, Sophie wasn’t kidding when she said she had a surprise.

As Lindsay searched for how to respond to Chandler, the clock in the castle tower tolled midnight. Out of the corner of her eye, Lindsay glimpsed Carlos walk through the doorway that led in from the terrace, but then she lost sight of him as he was swallowed up by the crowd.

Chandler reached inside his breast pocket and produced a business card. In the style of a magician weaving a coin through his fingers, he presented it to her with a flourish.

“Call my assistant for the location of the audition. It will be a very nice, lucrative opportunity.”

She took a deep breath, glancing around, trying to locate Carlos as she gathered the words she needed to nip Chandler’s wild idea in the bud.

“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Chandler. I’m flattered, really I am. But it’s been several years since I was in front of a camera. As tempting as the opportunity sounds, I’m afraid I’m not the person you’re looking for.”

“Oh, but I believe you are. Don’t misunderstand, I’m not offering you the job on the spot.” He smiled. “We’ll have to see how you look on camera, but as I said earlier, I have a hunch the camera will love your face. And, Miss Bingham, my hunches are always right.”

Chapter Two

“You left?” The vein in Max Standridge’s forehead pulsed like it might explode. Normally, Carlos Montigo would rib him about it, but better judgment warned, not today.

Instead he settled into the hotel suite’s couch, shrugged and pierced Max with his best what of it? stare.

Max pounded his fist once on the desktop. “You know the hoops I jumped through to wrangle you an invite to that wedding, Montigo. It was an opportunity, man. Why’d you leave? You could’ve at least made contact with the minister of art and education. We talked about how important that was.”

“Why did I leave?” Montigo stood and grabbed the La St. Michel social page off the coffee table, took a few steps and flung it onto the desk. It careened across the glossy surface until Max stopped it with a slap of his palm.

“That’s why I left.”

He gestured to a front-page photo of Lindsay Bingham in her sexy red dress, wearing that drive-a-man-to-madness smile.