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      “I can’t afford to shop at those places.”

      “Yes, you can. I’m paying you very well.” He threw out a figure that made Meg’s breath catch in her throat.

      “That’s far too much. I assumed you were going to pay me what Alan’s former assistant was making, or at least something in the ballpark.”

      He smiled. Okay, she was being pushy and outspoken again, but still…

      “It’s not too much,” he said. “And you’re going to earn every penny. You’re now Fieldman’s. When people see Fieldman’s Furnishings, what they’re really going to see is Meg Leighton. Here and abroad.”

      Her courage nearly faltered at that. Having people staring at her had always been difficult. But she had asked for his help and he was going to help her. She had agreed to be the spokesperson only hours ago. She couldn’t turn craven on him now. “And as the actual owner of Fieldman’s, you’ll be in the spotlight, too.”

      “Yes, but I’m used to it. I’ve lived in that kind of spotlight all my life. You haven’t. That means you need ways to conquer stage fright, should it rear its ugly head. You need the right clothes and you need to be able to make an instant impression. Consider it part of your job description.”

      “All right. But when I said that I wanted you to help me be a success, I wasn’t even thinking that you would clothe me.”

      “What were you thinking I would do?”

      “Teach me.”

      “I will.”

      “Guide me,” she said, her voice coming out a little whispery and very unlike herself.

      “I promise I’ll do that and more.”

      Meg didn’t even want to try to imagine what the and more part meant. Instead she followed Etienne out into the sunlight, into his sleek, expensive car and, eventually, into a very expensive boutique that she had only ever seen from the outside.

      “We need a wardrobe,” he told the woman. “Only items that complement Meg’s complexion and her figure. Nothing gaudy, but…think…”

      He studied Meg. “Nothing drab, either. Meg likes bright colors.”

      “How do you know that?” Meg asked.

      “I peeked in your doorway while we were talking yesterday. Your living room is quite out of the ordinary.”

      She laughed. “You’re being quite polite by describing it that way. Even Edie tells me I went too far with the aqua and tangerine and yellow.”

      “Maybe, but it suits you. And all those colors complement your eyes.”

      “My eyes are plain brown.”

      He did that wicked eyebrow raising thing again. “You, mademoiselle, don’t even know what color your eyes are. There’s nothing plain about them.”

      While he was talking he was looking into her eyes just as if they were alone. But they weren’t, and Meg felt suddenly self-conscious. The saleswoman probably thought that Meg was paying Etienne for his services or something. He could certainly spend his time with someone totally beautiful if he wanted to.

      “Okay, my eyes are gorgeous,” she lied. “What should I buy?”

      “This,” he said, pointing out a stunning camel colored suit and adding a melon silk blouse. “For starters.”

      And he meant what he said. For the next hour, Meg tried on outfit after outfit. Etienne nixed many of them. “That doesn’t do justice to her legs,” he’d say, just as if Meg’s legs had ever been the kind of thing anyone admired. And yet…in the camel suit or in the knee skimming navy sheath with subtle red trim, wearing red pumps that were slightly higher than she was used to, her legs did look different. Thinner.

      “You have an eye,” the saleswoman said to Etienne, and Meg knew that the woman was wishing that she was the woman Etienne was with.

      It’s just business, Meg wanted to tell her. We’re not romantic people. We’re just on this outing as part of the deal we made and because we need to make an impression at the expo. Still, the woman was right. Etienne had obviously dressed many women before, and those women had undoubtedly had more polish than the average female. It was a good thing to keep in mind. Even if he had the time and inclination to get involved with someone during his stay in Chicago, he was not for someone like Meg Leighton.

      “Not this,” Meg said when Etienne handed her a slender black strapless dress. “I’m all about business. I won’t need anything this formal.”

      “Oh, yes,” he said. “There will be at least one event either here or in Paris where you’ll need this. I’m sure of it.”

      Suddenly fear took hold of her. What was she doing? She, plain, always awkward Meg Leighton, the girl whose mother had accidentally scarred her, then reminded Meg again and again over the years that she would never go far if she didn’t cover up her deformity, lose weight, stand up taller, remake herself into a completely different person, was here trying on a cocktail dress just as if she was actually going to wear it.

      She frowned and started to put it back.

      Etienne gave the saleswoman a look, sending her scurrying away. He placed a hand on Meg’s arm, and sensation jolted through her. Heat suffused her body.

      “Please, Meg, do this,” Etienne said, leaning closer to her so that she nearly had to close her eyes from the sheer sensation of feeling the warmth of his body. “You need to do this. Alan was an idiot.”

      Her eyes flew open at that. “What?”

      “Don’t you think that I know that that…that fool sapped your confidence in yourself when he let you go?”

      “I never had that kind of total confidence in myself. Well, other than my brains. I knew I had those, but this…my…person…”

      His eyes opened wide. “You should have confidence here, too. Look at you, Meg,” he said, turning her so that they both faced the mirror. “Look at your cheekbones.” Standing behind her, he raised his arms, framing her body so that his fingertips skimmed her skin.

      Her heart nearly flipped over. “I—I have that scar,” she reminded him.

      “Yes, and I explained how adorable and sexy that was.”

      “I think you’re blind.”

      “I have twenty-twenty vision.”

      If she hadn’t been so overwhelmed by his nearness, she might have laughed at how seriously he had taken her comment. As it was, she could barely breathe.

      “Think of you in this dress,” he said. “With your hair up like this.” He reached down and gently lifted her long hair, so that her neck was exposed.

      And then he simply stared.

      “What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?” She tried to twist.

      “You have a beautiful neck. Has anyone ever told you that?”

      And then the sheer incongruity of the situation hit Meg. The nervous laughter bubbled up out of her.

      “I said something funny?” he asked.

      “You said something wonderful. Not true, but wonderful. I definitely have to start hanging around with a whole lot more Frenchmen. Are they all like you?”

      She looked in the mirror, and saw that his eyes were dark and not at all happy. “A few compliments. True compliments,” he insisted. “And you want to start meeting all the men in Paris. And…how am I?”

      Meg frowned, confused.

      “You asked if they were all like me. What did you mean?”

      “Only that you were full of pretty

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