The Bachelor's Cinderella: The Frenchman's Plain-Jane Project

“Well, ma chère, what do you need me for? You’re a complete natural,” he said. “I only meant for you to start making the switch from being his colleague to being his employer, but you moved him directly from employee to willing slave status.”

“He was only being truthful about the bright blue,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the vivid color.

“Maybe so, but he has to depend on you now. You outrank him and he needs to know that when he has a problem, you can help. If you don’t maintain that employer-employee status, your friends and colleagues will have no one to direct them when I’m gone,” he said.

Meg looked at him with those big, bright solemn eyes. Etienne worried that she, who had faced far too much criticism over the years, might be hurt by his comments, but she nodded. “I’ll work on that, but I’ll probably stumble now and then.”

“You have an affinity for the job. You’ll do fine.”

“You’re a good instructor,” she said. “But we still have a problem.” She looked toward the room.

“Ah, the color. Let’s go with the dark blue with ivory trim. When it comes in…we paint.”

“Us?” she asked with a smile.

“All of us,” he said, indicating the room.

“Oh,” she said, and he wondered if she was going to tell him that painting was beneath her dignity or that it wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she’d told him she wanted to be a successful businesswoman.

Suddenly Meg grinned and wrinkled her nose in such a cute way that Etienne’s heart flipped around a bit. “Don’t look at me that way. I happen to love painting,” she said. “The chance to slap stuff on a pristine wall with no repercussions? What’s not to love?”

And for some reason, Etienne believed her. There was just something irresistible about watching Meg when she was enthused about something.

The painting had gone faster than she had anticipated, Meg thought several days later when most of the employees had gone home and she and Etienne were the only ones left.

“Everything looks good, doesn’t it?” she asked, staring around the room. The paint had made such a difference.

“It does. It looks amazing,” Etienne agreed and she looked up to see him looking at her.

She suddenly felt self-conscious in her baggy jeans and white T-shirt with a tear at the shoulder. She had lots of paint on her, especially on the part of her shirt right over her left breast, where she had accidentally brushed against the wall. She was a mess, but Etienne…That man could do wonderful things to a black T-shirt and a pair of white painter’s pants. Today was the first day she had seen him wearing something other than a white shirt and tie. He was mouthwatering in business attire but the T-shirt revealed tanned muscled biceps that made her want to stare.

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.