Cinderella & the CEO Read online

  “How could it get worse?”

  “Piss them off and maybe you’ll have Christmas music playing all night, too,” Mitchell grumbled. “Tanner, you’ve just got to find a way to work with them.”

  “Perfect,” Tanner muttered, sitting down behind his desk. He had the house he’d always wanted and it was sitting next to a torture factory. “You know, it’s not just the traffic and the damn noise, Mitchell. I’ve got kids wandering over here from that farm and climbing my trees. That’s a liability nightmare waiting to happen. Not to mention the fact that I don’t own a dog, yet I do now own a pooper scooper of all damn things.”

  He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard Mitchell laugh.

  “It’s not funny. Do you know there’s an event wedding over there nearly every weekend? And last weekend, there were at least thirty little kids running and screaming all over the place.”

  “Yeah see, that’s the problem,” Mitchell told him. “You go into court complaining about children making happy noises at a Christmas tree farm and you look like the ultimate Scrooge. And that’s not going to make you real popular around there. It’s a small town, Tanner. You knew that when you moved there. Cabot Valley is nothing like L.A.”

  “No kidding.” Actually, the size of the tiny town was one of the things that had drawn Tanner to this part of Northern California. Cabot Valley was only a couple of hours by car away from Sacramento on one side and Lake Tahoe on the other. He could have city when he needed it, but he could be left the hell alone otherwise.

  He hadn’t even been into town since he moved in. He ordered groceries from the store and had them delivered. When he did leave the house, he didn’t bother buying gas in Cabot Valley because he didn’t want the locals getting used to seeing him around. He didn’t want to be drawn into conversations that could lead to people dropping by his house just to be neighborly. He wasn’t looking to make friends. He just wanted to be left alone to do his work in peace.

  At least, that had been the plan.

  So far, that wasn’t happening.

  “All I’m saying is give it a while,” Mitchell told him.

  “Settle in. See if you can’t find a way to work around this problem before you start making enemies.”

  Scowling, Tanner silently admitted he didn’t want enemies any more than he wanted to make friends. He just wanted some damn peace and quiet.

  “Fine,” he snapped. “But tell me this. You won’t get rid of the housekeeper and you can’t do anything about the damn tree farm. Why is it haven’t I fired you?”

  “Because I’m the only person you know who’ll tell you the truth whether you want to hear it or not.”

  “Good point. I’m hanging up now.”

  “So am I. And Tanner…be nice.”

  He hit the off button and frowned. Even irritated, Tanner could admit that Mitchell was right. He did appreciate the truth. Heaven knew he’d been lied to enough as a kid to last him a lifetime. His mother always had a ready story handy to explain why she couldn’t be at his school for a meeting or why she had to leave him with the housekeeper for a month or two while she flew off to Gstaad or Florence or wherever her latest lover had lived.

  Instantly, he pushed those old memories away. He wasn’t a kid anymore and his childhood had nothing to do with the here and now. The point was, Mitchell was right. And outside of his family—innumerable cousins and half brothers—there were very few people Tanner trusted. Mitchell was one of them.

  As he set the phone down, he leaned back, closed his eyes and just for a moment, reveled in the quiet. No Christmas songs. No cars racing along the road. No kids shrieking in his front yard.

  No sound from downstairs, either. What was she doing down there? What kind of housekeeper was that quiet? Quietly, he went downstairs, and stopped just outside the kitchen door. Something smelled incredible and his stomach grumbled in anticipation. Tanner was so used to just nuking a frozen dinner in the microwave—it had been a long time since he’d actually been hungry. Hard to find appreciation for flash frozen pot pies or Salisbury steaks.

  He pushed the door open and stood silently in the doorway. There were mixing bowls in the sink, water gushing into them and flour was scattered across the counter making it look as if it had snowed in there. A cupboard door was hanging open, and a bowl full of fruit was on the counter. His gaze shifted to where his new housekeeper was dancing over to the table and setting two places while humming—off-key—and he sighed when he recognized “The Little Drummer Boy.” Another Christmas song. Was this whole town nuts for Christmas? Shaking his head, he walked to the sink and shut the water off.

  Instantly, she spun around, hand clapped to her chest. In the next second, Ivy shot him a near blinding smile.

  “Wow. You move quietly. Scared me. Next time ring a bell or something, okay?”

  “If you’d remember to turn off the water, you would have heard me.”

  One of her eyebrows lifted. “I would have shut it off. I’m soaking the bowls.”

  He ignored that, reached over and closed the cupboard door. “I thought you were here to clean. The kitchen looks like a bomb went off in here.”

  She just looked at him. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re wound a little tight?”

  “Just recently, actually.”

  “Not surprised,” she said, then shrugged. “But that’s okay.”

  “Thanks so much.”

  “No problem. We’ve all got our quirks.” She turned away, grabbed a dishcloth and swiped up the spilled flour. “And as to the mess in here, I was busy. Besides, you have to actually make something dirty before you can clean it.”

  “Mission accomplished,” he said wryly, then sniffed the air. “Though whatever you’ve been doing smells good.”

  She smiled slowly and the curve of her mouth tickled that dimple into life in her cheek. A buzz quickened inside Tanner and he had to battle it into submission.

  “I guess it would, after living on frozen dinners for two months,” she said. Walking to the stove, she swept a spoon through a pot of something that smelled delicious. His stomach rumbled in appreciation.

  “What is that?”

  “Soup.”

  The soup he made never smelled that good, he thought and told himself that maybe this hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. She seemed to be good at the job and in her defense, he really hadn’t heard her down here at all. Still, he hadn’t been able to concentrate just knowing she was in the house.

  Then his stomach made its opinion clear again and he wondered if there wasn’t some way they could make this work. “We really haven’t talked about this job,” he said.

  “Except for the fact that you don’t want me here, no,” she agreed, smiling.

  Did she smile over everything? he wondered, then shook that thought away as irrelevant. “I admit, having someone in the house while I’m working is problematic. I like it quiet.”

  “Yeah, I guessed that much.” She turned to a cupboard, got down two bowls and set them on the counter. “Personally, I don’t know how you can stand it. Too much quiet can make you crazy.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” he said dryly, thinking of all the interruptions he’d put up with since moving to the supposedly quiet countryside.

  She glanced at him and grinned. “Was that sarcasm?”

  “I believe so,” he admitted, leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb.

  “I like it,” she said moving to the cooking island to pop a fresh loaf of bread out of its pan and onto a rack. “Proves you do have a sense of humor. So what do you want to talk about?”

  “Expectations,” he said. “I need quiet to work. But I suppose I do need a housekeeper, too. What we need to do is work out a timetable that’s acceptable to both of us.”

  “Seems reasonable,” she mused and walked to the cooking island.

  His gaze followed her. “You made bread?”

  “Yeah.” She shrugged. “It’s nothing special. Just quick bread. I mean, I di
dn’t have time to let yeast rise and everything, but this is good, trust me.”

  He studied her as she moved comfortably around the big room. She’d baked bread and if he wasn’t mistaken that was homemade soup on the stove. She’d been in the house for two hours and somehow she’d already taken over. How was it possible? And was it that important, his mind taunted as he savored the scents filling the brightly lit kitchen.

  Wouldn’t hurt, he told himself, to eat what she’d prepared. Then they’d talk about this and find a way for her to be here while not bothering him. He wasn’t a damn hermit, he told himself. He was a busy man with no time for interruptions. There was a difference. He preferred order to chaos, that was all.

  There were rules that Tanner lived by. Simple. Uncomplicated. He kept to himself. He trusted his brothers and cousins. And most importantly, he avoided relationships that lasted more than a week or two. When he wanted a woman, he went out and found someone looking for nothing more than he was—a couple of weeks of pleasure and a quick goodbye.

  Ivy Holloway was definitely not that kind of woman.

  So there was no reason for him to allow her to stay, was there?

  Three

  “Well,” she asked. “You hungry?”

  “Yeah,” he said, tearing his gaze from her pale blue eyes. “I am.”

  “I’ll join you if that’s okay,” she said, motioning for him to take a seat at the pedestal table set into the curve of the bay window. “I didn’t have a chance to eat before I left home.”

  “Where is home?”

  There was a long pause before she said, “Um, here. Cabot Valley.” She filled the bowls at the stove, then carried them to the table.

  The scent of the soup wafted up to him and Tanner breathed deep, reaching for his napkin and soupspoon. “I guessed that much,” he said dryly. “I meant, do you live close by?”

  “Sure.” She slipped a bread knife from a drawer and cut two thick slices of fresh bread. Lightly buttering them, she carried them to the table and offered him one. Then she sat down opposite him and added, “You know what they say. In a small town, nothing’s far from anything.”

  He frowned at her evasion, but let it go. Frankly, his stomach was demanding more attention at the moment, so he gave in and sampled her soup. Good. Very good. He’d eaten half the bowl before he knew what was happening and then glanced up to see her smiling at him.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Not funny,” she told him. “Is it so wrong for a cook to enjoy watching someone appreciate what she made?”

  “No,” he said with a shrug. “I suppose not. And the bread’s good, too, but you do know you can buy this stuff now. Packaged and sliced.”

  She frowned at him. “And is it as good as this bread?”

  “No, but it’s easier.”

  “Easier isn’t always better.”

  “Actually, I agree with you on that,” he admitted, looking into her eyes. She was more, he reminded himself, than just a gorgeous woman with a body to make a grown man weep. Which, as he’d already warned himself, wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Smart, sexy women could bring an unwary man down faster than anything else.

  “Look at that,” she told him. “We’re practically friends already!”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, finishing his soup. Before he could get up to refill his bowl, she was already standing and walking to the stove.

  “You don’t have to wait on me,” he said.

  “Trust me,” she answered. “If I had to, I probably wouldn’t. But consider it part of my job, okay? Housekeepers generally take care of more than the house, don’t they? I mean,” she continued as she carried the bowl back and set it down in front of him. “I’ve never been a housekeeper before, but seems to me that the job also includes taking care of the house owner.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t need taking care of, thanks. Been doing just fine on my own most of my life.”

  “No family then?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  She pulled off a piece of her bread and popped it into her mouth. “Just that, if you’ve got family, you’re not really on your own, are you?”

  “That would depend on the family, wouldn’t it?”

  “Good point.” She sat back in her chair and studied him until Tanner frowned. “What?”

  “Nothing, just wondering about why you don’t like your family.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Sure you did.”

  “Are you always this direct?” He set his spoon down and leaned back in his chair. Folding his arms across his chest, he assumed an instinctive defensive posture.

  “I try to be,” she said. “No point in playing games, is there? Then you never get to know people because everyone’s too busy pretending to be something they’re not. Easier all the way around to be up front and…”

  Her voice trailed off and Tanner said, “Well don’t stop now, you’re on a roll.”

  Ivy shook her head. “Never mind.”

  Uncomfortable now, because she was playing a game that she wished she weren’t, Ivy changed the subject. Leaning her forearms on the table she said, “Why don’t we talk about the job instead. What you want. What you don’t want. Then we’ll work from there.”

  “Okay.” He nodded, thought for a moment and said, “What I want is quiet. Something that seems to be damned hard to come by around here.”

  She stiffened a little, stung and unable to show it. “I don’t know,” she said offhandedly, “Cabot Valley’s really a very quiet place.”

  “Maybe the town is, but Christmas central here is a different story.”

  “You have something against Christmas?”

  “In August, yeah.”

  She bit her tongue to keep the sharp retort she wanted to give him locked inside. Instead, she only said, “A year-round Christmas spirit seems like a good idea to me. People are always friendlier during the season. Kinder, somehow.”

  He laughed shortly, a harsh sound with no humor in it. “Oh yeah, retailers are notoriously kinder at Christmas.”

  “I’m talking about people. In general.”

  “The ones who spend themselves into bankruptcy and then have nervous breakdowns because nothing turned out the way they thought it would? Or how about the kids waiting for a Santa that never shows up? Or the drunks killing people on the road?” He snorted again. “Yeah, that’s the kind of thing we should see all year.”

  “Isn’t Christmas huge for your business?”

  “I just build the games. I don’t force people to buy them.”

  “Wow.” Ivy looked at the dark, fierce expression on his face and knew that this was going to be much harder than she’d thought. Not only did Tanner King want to be isolated and alone, he actually hated Christmas. She’d never met anyone who hated the holiday before and she wasn’t sure what to say to him now. How did you argue with someone who was determined to see only the negative in a situation?

  And why, she couldn’t help wondering, did he feel that way?

  As if reading her expression clearly, he muttered, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to go off like that.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, watching as the shutters over his eyes closed again, sealing him in and her out. He’d taken a mental step back and did it so neatly she knew it was a way of life for him. “But I have to ask, if you hate Christmas so much, why’d you buy a house right next door to a Christmas tree farm?”

  He shot a glance out the window at the darkness, and as if he could see the farm, shook his head. “Because I thought it would be quiet. I thought that Christmas would be the only time I would be bothered by it.” He shifted his gaze back to hers. “Turns out, the owner of the farm feels the same way you do. Year-round Christmas is the theme.”

  “Is it really so bad?”

  “Yeah.” He picked up his bowl and spoon, then carried them to the sink. Setting them down in the mixing bowl full of water, he turned. Bracing his hands on the counte
r behind him, he said, “I’ve got kids running in and out of my yard, a dog I’ve never seen leaving messes for me to clean up and holiday music blaring all day long. It’s that bad.”

  “Have you tried talking to the owners?” she asked, knowing damn well he hadn’t. If he had once come to her, she might have tried to accommodate him. She wasn’t sure how, but she’d have tried. Instead, he’d gone to the sheriff, setting himself up as her enemy and leaving her no other choice but to fight this stealth war.

  “No. I spoke to the sheriff. Several times. But haven’t had any luck with it yet.”

  “You know, Angel trees has been in this valley—”

  “—for more than a hundred years,” he finished for her. “Yes, I’ve heard. That doesn’t mean they have the right to make their neighbors miserable. I’m guessing the Christmas carols they assault me with every damn day aren’t heard wherever you live.”

  She winced, but hid it as best she could. Who hated Christmas carols?

  “I don’t think it’s ever been a problem before. I mean,” she said, “the person who used to own this property, Mrs. Mansfield, she loved Christmas. She used to work at the farm during the season, selling jams and jellies and the wreaths she made.”

  And she’d been like a surrogate grandmother to Ivy. Just remembering the old woman made Ivy’s heart ache at her loss. If she’d known when Mrs. Mansfield died that a modern day Scrooge would be buying her property, Ivy would have mourned her loss even harder. But the deed was done and Tanner King was the new owner and she somehow had to get through to him. Although that task was looking more and more difficult every second.

  “Maybe if you found a way to work with them…”

  “The only thing people understand is money and power,” he told her flatly, crossing his arms over his broad chest again.

  “That’s not true of everyone.”

  He smirked at that, but didn’t argue the point. Instead, he said, “We were going to talk about the job.”