“I’m pretty beat myself,” Gwen said, a bit too brightly. “I think I’ll head on to bed. Thank yo—”

Will interrupted her, knowing full well he wasn’t going to let her retreat behind closed doors just yet. “There are a couple of things we still need to clear up.”

“Really? What do you…?” She trailed off as he closed the slight distance between them, and she took two small steps backward—only to find her back against the foyer wall. Her eyes flashed as he took advantage of her position and moved within inches of her body.

Reaching out, he captured the errant lock of hair that draped across her shoulder again. Twisting it around his finger, he played with the silky strand until her breathing became shallow.

“First, business and pleasure are two totally separate situations. I’m not one to confuse the two, and I’m surely not going to deny myself one just because I hired you to work. This—” he released her hair, only to move his hand to the elegant column of her neck, pleased to feel the pulse thumping wildly there “—has nothing to do with that.”

Gwen’s eyes widened as his other hand slid up her neck to cradle her jaw. She leaned in toward him, and he felt his own heartbeat accelerate.

“Secondly, Miss Behavior, I don’t give a damn about what’s appropriate.”

Kimberly Lang hid romance novels behind her textbooks in junior high, and even a Master’s programme in English couldn’t break her obsession with dashing heroes and happily ever after. A ballet dancer turned English teacher, Kimberly married an electrical engineer and turned her life into an ongoing episode of When Dilbert Met Frasier. She and her Darling Geek live in beautiful North Alabama with their one Amazing Child—who, unfortunately, shows an aptitude for sports.

Visit Kimberly at www.booksbykimberly.com for the latest news—and don’t forget to say hi while you’re there!

A recent title by the same author:

THE SECRET MISTRESS ARRANGEMENT

Dear Reader

Blame my very deep Southern roots, but I’m completely fascinated with etiquette. My obsession, however, extends beyond flatware and thank-you notes to very ‘out there’ information I’ll never have an actual need to use—like dinner seating protocol when both an ex-President and a member of the royal family are present. One day, when I was nose-first into an etiquette text, I found the inspiration for this book in a quote by the great Miss Manners, Judith Martin: ‘We are all born charming, fresh and spontaneous, and must be civilised before we are fit to participate in society.’

That quote sparked my imagination, and the dinner scene you’ll see in Chapter Two (the first night Gwen moves in) played through my head in full colour. The characters were so strong and interesting I knew I had to write their story. The more I got to know Will and Gwen (and Evie, too!), the more I adored them—and writing this book was so much fun.

I hope you enjoy getting to know Will and Gwen, and that you’ll drop me a note next time you visit my website (www.booksbykimberly.com). And, because there’s a little bit of Gwen in me, you know I’ll always write back!

All the best

Kimberly

THE MILLIONAIRE’S MISBEHAVING MISTRESS

BY

KIMBERLY LANG

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the women who made all this possible:

Andrea Laurence, Marilyn Puett, Kira Sinclair and Danniele Worsham—who are more than just my playfriends and the sisters-of-my-heart, they are also some of the smartest, most talented, and infinitely patient women I’ve ever been lucky enough to know;

Linda Winstead Jones, Linda Howard and Beverly Barton—who let me learn at the feet of the masters—I mean, mavens;

Pamela Hearon—who broke me of a lot of my bad habits in the nicest way possible;

and,

Bryony Green and Lucy Gilmour, whose editorial brilliance is matched only by their excellent taste.

CHAPTER ONE

“EVIE is Bradley Harrison’s daughter. I can’t just lock her in the attic and pretend she doesn’t exist!”

“You cannot continue to send her out in society as she is, either, William. She’s an embarrassment to the family and the company.”

Will Harrison poured another two fingers of Scotch and tipped the bottle in the direction of his late father’s oldest friend and HarCorp’s company attorney. So lunch at the Club yesterday hadn’t gone as expected. It wasn’t the end of the world.

Marcus Heatherton held out his glass for the refill. “Evangeline is a sweet girl, but Rachel let her run wild after your father died. You see the results. The child is a complete hoyden.”

Now there’s a word you don’t hear every day. Hoyden. Much nicer sounding than “ill-mannered,” “socially inept” or “tomboyish”—all of which had, unfortunately, been applied to his half sister.

The smile caused by Marcus’s word choice faded. The image of a petit four flying out of Evie’s wildly gesticulating hand and landing on the head of Mrs. Wellford’s spoiled lapdog like a little hat flashed through his mind. That had been funny. The ensuing regurgitation of said petit four in Mrs. Wellford’s lap after Shu-Shu swallowed it whole…well, that pretty much ended Evie’s most recent foray into Dallas society on a distinctly low note.

At seventy, Marcus possessed old-fashioned ideas about proper upbringing for young ladies, but old-fashioned or not, he was right. Fifteen-year-old Evie had no manners, no social protocol and, as Marcus had been reminding Will for the last half-hour, he had to do something about it.

Or else the Harrison name would be gossip column fodder once again.

When his father announced his engagement to a company secretary half his age, everyone but him easily pegged Rachel for the gold digger she was. Bradley, though, either couldn’t see or didn’t care, and he smiled benignly in the background as Rachel ran circles around him, spending his money like it was going out of style and making him the laughingstock of the very society she’d worked so hard to infiltrate.

When Rachel tired of Dallas, Bradley officially retired and moved her and five-year-old Evie to the Caribbean, leaving Will in charge of the family company at the ripe old age of twenty-six.

And while Will dedicated the next ten years to running the company and expanding it into an international force, his father and Rachel frolicked on the beaches around St. Kitts and traveled the world, but made no attempt to prepare Evie for her place in Dallas society—or civilization in general, as far as Marcus was concerned.

Will hadn’t heard much from Rachel in the last couple of years—after his father’s death, she’d been little more than another issue for the accountant to deal with—but after the accident last month that had left her daughter an orphan, he’d found himself Evie’s guardian.

So far, it hadn’t been easy. Yesterday had just been the proverbial last straw for Marcus.

Will cleared his throat. “Mrs. Gray and her tutors…”

“Mrs. Gray is a housekeeper. She’s kind to Evangeline and makes sure you both eat well and have clean clothes, but she is hardly the person to teach the child anything about etiquette. Evangeline’s tutors, even if they were qualified, need to focus on her studies so she’ll be ready to start at Parkline Academy in the fall.”

Marcus could be remarkably and frustratingly single-minded at times, but he’d been the one unwavering pillar of Will’s life, completely dedicated to the company and the Harrison family. Evie’s arrival had given the old man new focus, and for that, Will was grateful. His own love life and the need for a new generation of Harrisons had been under Marcus’s microscope for far too long. At least he hadn’t revisited the idea of Will marrying in order to give Evie a female role model. Yet. The night was still young, though, so he needed to think fast.

“William?”

“All right, I’ll hire someone specifically to work with her on this—to teach her some manners and how to behave in polite society.”

“You must do it now, William. People are already asking where Evangeline is and why you haven’t introduced her to more of your father’s friends or her own peer group. I’ve held everyone off for weeks now, claiming she needs more time to mourn her mother’s passing.”

“She does need time.” His own mother had died when he was twelve; Will could relate to Evie’s grief. At least he hadn’t lost both parents so early in life. His father may have been distant, but he’d been around for the most part.

“Yes, but she has responsibilities that cannot be ignored now that she is back in the States.”

“Responsibilities? She’s fifteen, for God’s sake. She doesn’t have any responsibilities.”

“Let me tell you this, William Harrison. Evangeline must be introduced into society and take her rightful place in it. Everyone is expecting to meet her at the Hospital Benefit.”

With that pronouncement, Marcus sat back in his chair and swirled the Scotch in his glass, seemingly amused by Will’s sputtering.

“The benefit? That’s three weeks away.”

“Then you’d better get busy finding someone, shouldn’t you?”

Dear Miss Behavior,

I told my best friend I was hoping this guy we both like would ask me to go to a concert with him. She goes and buys tickets and then asks him to go with her! I’m so mad at her, but she says that if he’d liked me, then he wouldn’t have agreed to go with her. Now she wants to borrow my leather jacket to wear on their date. She says it would be the “polite” thing to do since she loaned me a pair of boots the last time I had a date. I think she’s the one being rude. Since we both love your column, I told her I’d let you decide. Do I have to loan her my jacket to go on a date with the guy I like?

Thnx.

Cinderella

Gwen reached for her coffee cup. Empty. She’d need at least another cup before she was awake enough to deal with teenage angst. She swiveled out of her chair and headed to the kitchen for a refill to fortify her before she waded in to the dangerous waters of adolescent controversy.

In the nine months she’d served as Miss Behavior, Teen Etiquette Expert on the TeenSpace Web site, she’d been embroiled in enough melodrama to write her own teenage soap opera. She’d signed on thinking she’d be answering simple questions like who asks whom to the prom or who pays for dinner. How wrong she was. The complexities of seating charts were child’s play in comparison to the day-today drama of high school.

The coffee carafe was still half-full as she pulled it off the warmer and poured another extra-large cup. Her experience with teenage dramatics had been vicarious at best. She’d been the “good” daughter—except that one time—leaving her sister Sarah to reap Mother’s wrath over her outlandish behavior. Funny how now, after all these years, she was still standing on the outskirts of the fray and trying to mediate the peace.

A yowl was Gwen’s only warning as Letitia jumped from behind the pie safe to attack the ears of Gwen’s bunny slippers, only to land claws first on her ankle instead. Coffee sluiced over her hand as she jumped, splattering to the floor around the black and white cat. Letitia hissed at the coffee puddles, took one last swipe at the slippers and bolted out of the kitchen.

“You’re going to get burned doing that, you silly cat.” Or declawed. This was a new trick from the previously laid-back Letitia. A gift from her sister, the new slippers with their oversize ears had pushed the cat over the edge. After five days of this, her ankles looked like she’d been attacked by a ravenous horde of three-inch vampires. The slippers were comfortable, not to mention cute, but not worth the constant battle. She left the slippers in the kitchen for Letitia to attack at her leisure and went back to her computer.

Stifling the urge to start with “With friends like that, who needs enemies,” Gwen typed out her response for Cinderella and posted all five of today’s questions and answers to the site before logging out of her Miss Behavior account and turning her attention to the mail on her desk. Miss Behavior had been an instant Internet success, tripling the hits to TeenSpace in the last six months, and her real-life consulting business was benefiting from the popularity of the column. As much as she hated it sometimes, practically every debutante in Dallas had her on speed dial.

In addition to bills and a few checks her bank account desperately needed, the morning’s snail mail brought yet another plaque of thanks from the Victorian Guild for her work with the current debutante class. She’d earned a plaque this year; that group of debs had been the worst yet. Just getting them to spit out their gum and turn off their cell phones had taken most of her patience.

She scanned her office, debating where she had room for it. Wall space was at a premium as debutante class photos, thank-you plaques and other memorabilia competed for a place. There was space over her certificates from some of the best protocol schools in the country, but she really didn’t want anything relating to her current work next to them.

She sighed. If her classmates could see her now. Those certificates—many awarded with honors as the top student in her class—hung next to her degree from George Washington, all of which needed dusting. She was trained to work with politicians, heads of state and corporate bigwigs; instead, she spent her time with debutantes and cotillion clubs.

One day, she’d be able to quit teaching spoiled, rich teenagers to eat without their elbows on the table and go back to working with grown-ups in serious business.

Please, God.

For now, though, the teenagers of Texas were paying her rent. She pulled her file on the group of Junior League members who would be taking their daughters to D.C. next month. Teenage girls meeting senators was at least one step closer to getting back on track. She should be counting her blessings.

The three short rings of her business line caught her attention. She sat up straight, smiled and answered before the second set of rings finished.

“Good morning. Everyday Etiquette. This is Gwen Sawyer speaking.”

“Miss Sawyer, this is Nancy Tucker calling from William Harrison’s office at HarCorp International.” The voice was cool, smooth and undeniably professional.

Gwen’s heart beat double-time at the woman’s words. She’d been trying to get her foot in the door at HarCorp for months. That dragon in Human Resources seemed so hell-bent on ignoring her proposals, she’d almost given up. A squeal of glee wanted to escape, but she cleared her throat and concentrated on sounding just as professional as Ms. Tucker.

“Yes, Ms. Tucker, how may I help you?”

“Mr. Harrison would like to meet with you to discuss contracting your services. He realizes it’s very short notice, but he could meet with you this afternoon at two, if you are available.”

Adrenaline rushed through her system, and she began pulling files of proposals from her desk drawer. Available? She’d cancel a funeral to be there. Forget the HR dragon; the boss himself wanted to see her. “Two o’clock would be fine.”

“Wonderful. I’ll let the receptionist know to expect you.” The carefully modulated tones didn’t change.

“Thank you. I’ll see you then.” Only when the phone was securely in its cradle did Gwen release the squeal choking her.

This was it. Her days in debutante hell were finally over. After five long years of penance, she’d finally get the chance to restart her career. Ms. Tucker hadn’t mentioned what kind of service HarCorp was looking for, but Gwen didn’t care. If Will Harrison wanted to talk to her, it would have to be something important. Hadn’t she seen an article in the paper not long ago that HarCorp was moving into the Asian market? Had someone passed along her proposals to the boss himself?

Talk about dream come true time… The Junior League file went back into the drawer, and she pulled out her folder on HarCorp and the ignored-until-now proposals. She didn’t have much time to prepare, but deep down, she knew one thing.

This meeting was going to change her life.

Gwen checked her watch. One-fifty. Perfect. She’d killed the last five minutes in the ladies’ room on HarCorp’s fourteenth floor, not wanting to arrive too early. One last critical look in the mirror confirmed that she presented the best image possible. The wind in the parking lot had teased a few wispy tendrils of hair out of the severe French twist she’d forced her hair into earlier, but thankfully, the damage wasn’t too drastic. She powdered the freckles on her nose one last time and hoped the nervous flush on her cheeks would fade. Applying one last sweep of gloss across her lips, she studied the image in the mirror carefully. She wouldn’t be winning any beauty pageants, but she looked responsible and mature—just like a protocol consultant should.

Camel-brown suit. Peach silk shirt. Closed-toe shoes with coordinating briefcase. Gramma Jane’s pearls for luck. Gwen closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, willing herself to project cool, collected, confident professionalism.

Even if she was quivering so badly inside she thought she might be ill.

At one fifty-five, she opened the glass doors of the executive offices and presented herself to the receptionist.

“I’m Gwen Sawyer. I have a two o’clock appointment with Mr. Harrison.”

The reception desk resembled the cockpit of the space shuttle: blinking buttons, keyboards and computer screens all within easy reach of the occupant. The nameplate on the desk identified the occupant as Jewel Madison, a detail Gwen noted so it could be added to the HarCorp file later. The Ms. Tucker she’d spoken to earlier must be Mr. Harrison’s personal secretary.

Jewel consulted a screen. “Mr. Harrison has been held up in a meeting and is running a few minutes behind. He sends his apologies. You can have a seat over there.” She waved in the direction of a seating area. “Would you like a cup of coffee while you wait?”

Coffee was the last thing her roiling stomach needed. As she declined, something on the desk beeped and Jewel’s attention shifted. Dismissed, Gwen went to wait. A leather couch nicer than the ones in most people’s homes looked too squishy to get up from gracefully, so she chose the less comfortable, but much more dignified wing chair instead. Copies of the HarCorp Annual Report covered the small coffee table and for lack of something else to do, Gwen picked one up and flipped through it absently as she mentally rehearsed her pitch one last time.

As a “few minutes” turned into twenty, then thirty, her irritation level rose steadily. At two thirty-five, a forty-something dark-haired woman in a lime-green suit turned the corner and introduced herself as the Nancy Tucker of that morning’s phone call.

“So sorry you had to wait. Mr. Harrison can see you now.”

About damn time, Gwen thought before she checked herself. Breathe. Don’t get irritated. This is too important to get all twitchy about punctuality issues.

Nancy was all business. She led Gwen down the hallway in silence, no small talk at all, and delivered her to William Harrison’s office door. After a quick knock, she opened it, ushering Gwen in ahead of her.

A stunning view of the Dallas skyline greeted her, but the occupant of the office did not. Without breaking his conversation with whomever was on the phone, he waved her in and indicated he’d be with her in just a minute.

Nancy guided her to one of the chairs facing the massive desk, then slipped silently out the door. Gwen set her briefcase on the floor, crossed one foot behind the other, folded her hands in her lap and waited.

Lesson number one: Don’t talk on the phone while there’s a flesh and blood person in front of you. Taking a deep breath, she kept her frustration to herself. He was a busy man, and he’d at least acknowledged her presence. So she sat quietly, but uncomfortably, as the conversation continued. Gwen tried to keep her gaze on the view of the city as it would be rude to stare at Will Harrison.

And she knew for certain that it was Will Harrison. She’d seen his picture in the papers enough to recognize him. While she might not run in the same circles of society as he, her clients certainly did, and as one of Dallas’s Most Eligible Bachelors, many of her debs and their mammas were quite obsessed with him.

She could easily see why they were swooning. If she weren’t so irritated, she might feel a teeny-tiny swoon coming on herself. None of his pictures did him justice. In person, he didn’t look at all like a buttoned-up and stuffy Fortune 500 CEO. His collar and cuffs were both unbuttoned in fact, his tie pulled loose at the knot and his sleeves rolled up over his forearms. His dark hair hung a little longer than most executives’, and the tan on his face said he didn’t spend all of his time in the boardroom. Gwen could easily picture him as the outdoorsy type, and the broad shoulders and strong arms indicated it was something far more active than executive golfing. Maybe he was one of those weekend cowboys? The office lacked any Western-themed decor, so that didn’t help. She tried to casually scan his office for clues to his hobbies, telling herself it was strictly for business purposes…

A deep, rumbling chuckle jerked her attention back to the man behind the desk. This time, he caught her eye and smiled. It was the smile that nearly did her in. The man had a dimple, for God’s sake, and the total effect would give any live woman a pulse spike.

And, if her pulse was any indication, she was very much alive at the moment. Mercy. Most Eligible, indeed. She stifled the urge to fan herself as the room grew a little too warm.

He was around the desk and extending his hand to her before she even realized he’d hung up the phone. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Sawyer. Will Harrison.”

Up close, the man was even more devastating to the senses. At this distance, Gwen could see that Will’s eyes were hazel—not the murky hazel of her own, but a clear, perfect hazel. The hand he offered was strong and warm and sent a little tingle of electricity up her arm as she touched him. That swoon seemed more and more likely with each passing minute.

Focus, Gwen. She gave herself a mental shake. You’re not a groupie here to drool over the man. Pull it together because it’s showtime. “Not a problem.” She opened her briefcase and pulled out several of her HarCorp folders. “Everyday Etiquette has a reputation—”

Will returned to his chair on the other side of the desk. “Nancy assures me you are the best at what you do, so I have no doubts you will be successful with Evie. However, we’re on a deadline here, and I need to know you can work quickly. And, of course, your discretion is essential.”

Irritation at being interrupted midsentence was tempered by the compliment that she was the best. She was, darn it; it was about time somebody took note. But how did Nancy know? And who was Evie? Discretion? What kind of training did HarCorp need?

“The Hospital Benefit is less than three weeks away. It’s Evie’s ‘launch,’ so to speak.”

Confusion reigned. She knew exactly when the Med Ball was—it had been a major topic in one of her classes last week. But what did HarCorp have to do other than write a check? She cleared her throat, berating herself for not getting more details from Nancy that morning on the phone. “Mr. Harrison, Ms. Tucker didn’t provide any specific information about what kind of services HarCorp needed, so I’m afraid I’m a bit at a loss as to what you are talking about.”

Those black eyebrows shot up in surprise, but his computer pinged, and his attention moved to the screen. “Damn.” His fingers flew across the keyboard before responding. “Evie is my sister—my half sister, actually.”

Ah, the elusive Evangeline she’d read about. The society columns were buzzing with speculation… Oh, no. A bad feeling crept up her spine.

“She’s living with me now, and her manners are atrocious. I need you to teach her how to be a lady. That is what you do, correct?”

Please let me be wrong. Please. “You need social training for your sister?”

“Table manners. Polite conversation. How to behave at a party.” Another ping from the computer, and his eyes went immediately to the screen. “And she’ll need help with her wardrobe as well.”

Damn. Her heart sank as what was left of her hopes evaporated. HarCorp didn’t need her—another spoiled debutante did. Just to be sure, she asked, “And how old is Evie?”

“Fifteen.”

Gwen tried to keep her disappointment out of her voice. “Fifteen’s a bit young for debutante training, don’t you think? Surely you have a few more years before…”

That got his full attention. She trailed off as he pinned her with those hazel eyes, and his voice took on a sharp edge. “She’s not a debutante. She’s an heiress and a Harrison.” He said “Harrison” like it was a synonym for “royalty.” “Sadly, my father and stepmother didn’t see to it that Evie learn how to behave properly in public before they died. Evie needs someone to teach her, and she needs to know enough not to embarrass herself or the family at the Hospital Benefit. It’s pretty straightforward.”

This time, it was the phone on his desk that beeped, drawing his attention away again with only an offhanded “excuse me” as he answered it. Irritation bloomed again before she could help it. She dug her nails into her palm and bit her tongue. Good manners meant she couldn’t call him on his rudeness—and busy man or not, he was starting to really fray her Miss Behavior nerves.

Good manners also meant she shouldn’t eavesdrop on his conversation, and she needed a moment to think and regroup anyway.

She shouldn’t be upset that he wanted her to do social training—it was, after all, her primary source of income at the moment, and she was very good at it. Her pride was just a bit bruised because she’d come in with such high hopes for something else. She should agree to work with his sister…maybe some of the lessons would rub off on him.

That thought kindled her hopes again. Maybe, just maybe, this was the way into HarCorp. The back way in, granted, but she’d take what she could get. She’d work with the sister and hope that the brother would be so impressed he’d listen to her proposals for business training…

“Well, Miss Sawyer, what do you think?” Will’s attention was back on her, and she straightened her spine. Even with her irritation, she had to be impressed with how he could jump from one task to another and not lose track of either. Will steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow raised in question.

“I’d be glad to work with your sister, Mr. Harrison, but three weeks is not a lot of time…”

“Exactly. You’ll need every spare minute with Evie.” He reached for a pen and scribbled something on a piece of paper before rounding the desk once again. This time, though, he leaned his hips back against it as he handed her the paper.

Dragging her thoughts from the long legs stretched out so close to her, she blinked and tried to focus on the bold scrawl.

An address in the elite Turtle Creek neighborhood.

“I’ve told the housekeeper, Mrs. Gray, to prepare the guest room. You can move your things in tonight and start with Evie tomorrow.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks at the thought, and she struggled to find words. “M-m-move in? Are you—I mean, that’s not—” She took a deep breath to calm the unprofessional stuttering caused by his presumptuous statement. “I have a business to run—other clients and responsibilities.” And the papers would have a field day.

“Evie spends several hours a day with her tutors catching up on schoolwork. That would give you some time to take care of your other responsibilities. I’m quite willing to pay you for the inconvenience.”

She had to call on years of training not to react at the outrageous figure he mentioned. He was serious about this.

“And, as I said earlier, your discretion is essential.”

Discretion? For that amount of money he could silence Dallas Lifestyles’s gossip columnist.

She was younger than he’d expected. Prettier, too, in a wholesome girl-next-door kind of way. She lacked that brittle edge that often came with sophistication—a nice contrast from the women he was used to.

He’d been expecting a plump, gray-haired, grandmotherly type—or, at the very least, a Mary Poppins—if for no other reason he felt anyone calling herself an expert on anything should at least look old enough to drink. Miss Gwen Sawyer was neither plump nor grandmotherly and probably got carded on a regular basis. At the same time, she projected a kind of cool elegance that fascinated him and that Evie would benefit from learning.

She acted completely calm and professional, but he knew she wasn’t as detached as she looked. While Miss Sawyer was capable of keeping a good poker face, she couldn’t control those wide hazel eyes of hers that expressed each and every feeling the moment she had it. And she’d experienced several throughout their interview. Calculation, shock, confusion—she’d worked through them all. At least once, he’d even seen irritation there, but he wasn’t sure why. But something had thrown Gwen off her game very early on in the meeting, and it had taken a few minutes for her to regroup. He still hadn’t figured out what that had been about, either.

He expected the money to throw her off-guard. It was much more than such services could possibly cost, but it would assure she’d give Evie her full attention and keep her mouth closed to Tish Cotter-Hulme, the local society gossip columnist.

Gwen regained her balance much more quickly this time, covering her discomfort with cool politeness. Nice trick. Hopefully she could teach it to Evie.

“I couldn’t possibly move into your home.”

“Are you married?” He glanced down to where her fingers laced together in her lap. The white knuckles gave away her agitation as clearly as her eyes did, but from his position, he couldn’t see if she wore a ring or not.

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows flew toward her hairline in shock, and a flush stained her cheeks.

“Are you married? Do you have children or something?” Gwen took a deep breath before answering, and he realized he was a little too interested in her response.

“No, but—”

“Good.” He let out the breath he’d been holding. “I understand the request is a bit odd—” Gwen gave him a wonderful “you think?” look that would have been funny in a different situation, so he forged ahead before she could mount a stronger rejection of his offer. “But Evie’s still recovering from her mother’s death. She’s a little fragile at times and having a hard time adjusting. She needs someone who can give her undivided attention. It would be easier on her to have you there full-time.”

He could see Gwen softening.

She played with the pearls at her neck, calling his attention to the flush rising from the collar of her blouse. “I guess I could—”

“Excellent.”

Gwen took a deep breath, and her hand fell back to her lap. When she spoke, that cool professionalism was back. In a way he was disappointed; a slightly rattled Gwen was much more interesting.

“I’ll prepare a contract and fax it to your secretary this afternoon.”

“And I have a nondisclosure agreement that will require your signature as well. I don’t want Evie embarrassed or details of my private life shared with the papers.”

“Of course. I understand completely.” She stood, and he rose to his feet. Although he topped her by a good seven inches, she pushed her shoulders back and looked him squarely in the eye for the first time since he’d rattled her with his unorthodox proposal. “I’ll gather my things and be at your home tonight around six-thirty or so. Will that be acceptable?”

Her words caused a smile. He didn’t know much about etiquette, but Miss Sawyer would make one hell of an executive if she put her mind to it. He was looking forward to seeing her in action with Evie.

“That’ll be fine. I’ll tell Mrs. Gray to serve dinner around seven.”

She offered her hand. “I’ll see you then. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Harrison.”

“Call me Will.”

“And I’m Gwen. I’ll see you tonight.”

With another of those cool, polite smiles, Gwen Sawyer showed herself to the door, allowing him the opportunity to observe what he’d missed earlier by being on the phone when she arrived. Long legs. Nice curves almost camouflaged by a conservative suit. A graceful and unhurried walk.

Hopefully Evie would take to her.

He couldn’t help but think back to the evening two nights ago. After Marcus left, he’d found Evie on the stairs, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. Evie took after Rachel with her auburn hair and high cheekbones, but she had her father’s—their father’s—eyes. Unsure how to handle a teary teenager, he’d joined her on the steps but said nothing.

Evie broke the silence first. “I’m sorry I’m such an embarrassment to you.”

She must have overhead Marcus’s comments. “You’re not an embarrassment. You just don’t know what it’s like here.” He patted her shoulder, feeling awkward as he did. He was still new to this big brother thing.

“I’m willing to learn, Will. I promise I’ll work really hard.” She swallowed hard as the tears overflowed. “Please don’t send me away.”

“Away?”

“To boarding school. I heard Uncle Marcus mention it last week. I don’t want to go. Please, Will.”

Guilt at even considering Marcus’s suggestion nagged at him. “You’re not going to boarding school. You’re a Harrison, and this is where you belong.”

Evie’s tear-streaked face split into a wide grin as she launched herself into his arms.

Parenting a teenager still had him confused, but he’d bridged a gap that night with Evie. He barely knew her—partly due to the difference in their ages and partly because he’d simply been too busy to concern himself with a child several thousand miles away. But they were getting to know each other now and coming to an agreeable living arrangement.

He was getting the hang of this after all. With the addition of Gwen Sawyer to the team, his life could start working itself back to normal.

And, just to be sure, he’d be home for Gwen’s arrival tonight.

CHAPTER TWO

“YOU are kidding me, right? The Will Harrison hired you? I didn’t even know he had a sister.”

“That’s because you don’t read the society section closely enough. And don’t sound so surprised. As I’ve been reminded more than once recently, social training is what I do for a living.” Gwen balanced the phone on her shoulder as she loaded her laptop into its case.

Sarah went into Sister Support Mode. “Temporarily, Gwennie, temporarily. Even if the kid eats with her feet, you’ll turn her into Jackie O in no time. Then, big brother will have to listen to what you can do for his company.”

“I can hope.” Gwen consulted her list. Laptop. Dinner kit. Tea kit. Etiquette books for her new client. Her suitcase. Check, check, check and check.

The increase in background noise meant her sister was no longer alone. Hastily she added, “Listen, you can’t tell anyone about this. ‘My discretion is essential,’ remember?”

“Ich verstehe.” Sarah switched to German, a tactic they’d used for years when they didn’t want others to understand their conversation. “Is he as handsome as his pictures?”

Better than his pictures. Yummy, actually. “Oh, grow up, Sarah.”

“He’s Dallas’s Most Eligible Bachelor, you know.”

“One of them, at least,” she hedged.

“Seriously, what’s he like?”

“Busy. A bit brusque. In need of one of my refresher classes.” Gwen grabbed her address book and current client files and added them to the growing pile. Will Harrison might be the biggest client she’d signed on, but she still had to take care of the others.

“Well, maybe your lessons with his sister will rub off on him.”

Gwen responded with an unladylike, but noncommittal “humph” as she dragged her suitcase down the hallway. “One more thing. Can you look after Letitia for a while?”

“Sure, Gwennie. Why?”

“This is where your discretion comes in. I’m going to be living with the Harrisons for the next couple of weeks.” Gwen held the phone away from her ear in expectation of her sister’s reaction.

“You’re what?” Even with the phone several inches away, she clearly heard every one of the dozen rapid-fire questions delivered at the top of her sister’s voice.

“Calm down. Good Lord, you sound exactly like Mother when you do that.”

“That’s uncalled for.”

“Well, if the shoe fits…”

“You do understand that if that columnist from Dallas Lifestyles gets wind of this, she’ll have a field day with you.”

“There’s nothing nefarious going on. I’m moving into the guest bedroom so I’ll have total access to Evie. If my over-developed sense of propriety can handle it, so can yours.” She consulted her list one last time. Surely she had everything she needed. It wasn’t like she was going to Siberia or anything. “Since when do you care what people think anyway?”

Sarah sighed. “That’s my point. I don’t, but you need to. Let me remind you that the majority of your clientele is hugely conservative. Proper debutante trainers don’t live with men they aren’t related to.”

“I know, I know. This is why you need to keep your mouth shut. Should anyone find out—”

“And you know they will, Gwennie. Will Harrison is one of that Hulme woman’s favorite subjects for her column. Do you honestly think you can move in to his house and no one will notice?”

It was Gwen’s turn to sigh. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. No one would question it if he’d hired a live-in housekeeper. This isn’t any different.”

“I’d keep practicing that statement, if I were you. I think you’re going to need it.”

“There’s no need to sound so dire. It’s not like there’s paparazzi staking out his building or anything. If I just lie low and not call attention to myself, this should stay under the radar.”

“Good luck with that.” Gwen could almost hear Sarah’s eyes rolling with the sarcasm.

“Jeez, thanks for the vote of support.”

“You have my support—you know that. I also know how hard you’ve worked to build something here, and I’d hate for you to lose ground again.”

“I know. But I just get the feeling this is the right thing to do. That it’s my chance. I’ve got to try. If not, I’m afraid I’m going to spend another five years playing with place settings.”

“Then I’ll keep my fingers and toes crossed for you.”

“Thank you. Now can you come get Letitia and keep her until I’m finished with Evie?”

“Of course.”

“And speaking of Evie, can I bring her in to see you this week? Seems she’s going to need a wardrobe.”

She heard the clicks from the keyboard that meant Sarah was checking her schedule. “I’m free Friday afternoon,” she finally said. “Will that work? Monday morning would be okay, too. Just let me know.”

“Thanks. I’m already running late so I really have to go. I’ll have my cell if you need me. And remember, discretion.”

“Genau.” Sarah switched back to English. “Call me tomorrow. I want to hear all the juicy details.”

“Goodbye.” There will be no juicy details this time.

The brief foray into German reminded Gwen to go back to her office for her Japanese dictionary and software. If she wanted to promote herself as an expert in Asian relations, she needed to get her fluency back in Japanese. Which meant she was dependent on software for the time being. Hopefully Evie didn’t eat with her feet and she’d have some time to practice…

As she loaded her car, she questioned her sanity one last time. If all went well, this could change everything for her. If she could just get HarCorp as a satisfied customer, every company in Dallas would be lining up for her services. Heck, HarCorp could open doors for her all over Texas.

But if Evie wasn’t ready in time…she could kiss most of her clientele goodbye. Sarah wasn’t wrong about her business suffering if the gossip columns decided to portray her as some kind of immoral floozy. But the true Worst Case Scenario was if she didn’t produce the results Will Harrison expected. Unhappy Harrisons spelled certain doom for her entire business—including the debs. No one would hire her for anything if the Harrisons blacklisted her. The Dallas elite were a close-knit group. Alienating one meant alienating them all.

This was make or break time.

Nothing like a little pressure to keep a girl on her toes. She shifted into Drive and tried to think positively.

On a map, Will Harrison’s high-rise building might be only four miles from her funky M Street cottage, but in terms of wealth, Gwen felt like she’d traveled to the moon.

She stopped under the porte cochere where a doorman met her at her car and introduced himself as Michael. She identified herself, half expecting to be told to move her simple Honda to a less-affluent area.

“Miss Sawyer, of course. Mr. Harrison said to expect you. Let me help you with your things, and Ricky will take your car to the garage.”

The helpful doorman made easy conversation as he gathered her gear from the trunk and escorted her to the elevator. “The Harrisons are in Penthouse A.”

Of course they are. Where else would they live? Michael pushed the button marked P, and she gasped as the elevator sped to the top floor in seconds and deposited them almost directly in front of the door marked A.

“I cannot believe I’m doing this,” she muttered.

“Excuse me?” Michael asked from behind her.

“Oh, nothing.” With one last mental slap to the forehead, she rang the bell.

She heard a voice shout “I’ll get it!” before the door was thrown open by a teenage girl she had to assume was Evie.

The girl’s dark red hair was braided into cornrows tipped with colorful beads that swung dangerously as she turned to shout, “Will, she’s here!” She waved Gwen in and smiled at Michael as he returned to the elevator.

Evie’s casual air and easy manner contrasted sharply with the cool marble elegance of the foyer. Tall and thin in the way only teenagers can be, she wore faded blue jeans frayed at the hems and a gauzy white peasant shirt. While she was barefoot and fresh-faced now, Evie would be a raving beauty once she matured out of the gangly awkwardness of adolescence. Gwen remembered the picture of Bradley Harrison that hung in the HarCorp lobby; Evie must have inherited her amazing bone structure from her mother. Neither she nor Will favored Bradley Harrison at all, except for their eyes.

Just as she thought his name, Will appeared from a room farther down the hall. Her breath caught in her chest. The suit and tie were gone, replaced by a pair of faded jeans and a snug blue T-shirt that clearly outlined the shoulders she’d admired earlier in his office. Tanned biceps flexed as he helped Gwen bring her suitcase in.

He, too, was barefoot, and she felt ridiculously out-of-place: overdressed in her suit and sensible shoes and totally dumpy standing next to such perfect specimens of beauty.

“Gwen, this is my sister, Evangeline. Evie, this is Miss Sawyer.”

Pulling herself together, Gwen offered her hand to Evie. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Evangeline. May I call you Evie as well?”

“Ohmigod, you really are Miss Behavior, aren’t you?”

Gwen ignored Will’s uplifted eyebrows. “Yes, I am. I take it you read my column?”

Evie bounced on the balls of her feet. “Every single day since Mrs. Gray told me I had to learn some manners. Plus all the archive stuff, too. I’ve learned so much already. I can’t believe Will got you as my teacher! Cool!”

“Then let’s try this again.” Gwen offered her hand to Evie a second time. “It’s nice to meet you, Evangeline.”

Evie took the hint and with a sideways glance at Will tried again. “It’s nice to meet you too, Miss Sawyer. Please call me Evie.” Evie shook her hand, but it was a timid handshake. They’d work on that tomorrow.

“Since we’re going to be working closely together, why don’t you call me Gwen?”

Evie grinned, and Gwen knew she had a winner on her hands.

“Evie, take Gwen’s things to her room.” Evie disappeared around a corner, dragging Gwen’s suitcase behind her, and Will lifted an eyebrow at her. “Miss Behavior?”

“On the TeenSpace site. Kind of like Miss Manners.” He finally guided her out of the foyer and into a living area with another spectacular view of Dallas. The man must really like looking out over the skyline. “That’s why Evie knew what I was talking about there in the hallway. We went over introductions just last week on the site.”

He nodded and changed the subject abruptly. “Mrs. Gray will have dinner ready in just a minute or two. Would you like a drink?”

Desperately. But she shook her head and declined. She needed her A-game tonight, and a drink wouldn’t help. Perching carefully in the wing chair opposite his, she tried to make small talk. It wasn’t easy.

Will picked up his glass from the coffee table and swirled the amber liquid. Scotch? Bourbon? she wondered briefly, then lost her train of thought as he leaned back in the chair and propped his feet on the edge of the coffee table. They were large and tanned, and for reasons she couldn’t begin to explore, oddly fascinating to her.

“Gwen?”

She snapped back to the conversation and felt the guilty flush creep up her neck. She’d been staring at his feet, for goodness sake. What on earth was wrong with her?

She smiled an apology.

“You can get settled in after dinner. Please make yourself at home. If you need anything, just let Mrs. Gray know.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, let’s talk about Evie.”

Another complete turnaround. Will got bonus points for remembering the small pleasantries, but he remained focused on why she was here.

“What about me?” Evie came into the room and flopped on the sofa.

“I want to hear how Gwen’s going to miraculously turn you into a lady before the Hospital Benefit. You should be sitting up straight and paying attention.”

Evie straightened up and both Harrison siblings looked at her expectantly.

Good God. What have I gotten myself into? “Well…”

Mrs. Gray chose that moment to call them to dinner and Gwen sent up a word of thanks. This was the strangest situation of her career, and she wasn’t sure how to proceed. Dinner would make this much easier.

How wrong she was. Evie chattered like a magpie, covering every topic that crossed her mind, from the TeenSpace site and Gwen’s column to how much she disliked the food in America. Will said little, occasionally commenting on Evie’s monologue when she paused for a breath, and when his BlackBerry beeped in the next room, he went to get it and brought it back to the table with him.

Gwen watched it all in a state of mild shock.

“So, how do you become a manners expert, Gwen? Is there like a school someplace or something?” Evie perched her chin on her fist and gave Gwen her full attention for the first time during the meal. Will even looked up from his BlackBerry to hear her answer.

Well, at least it was some progress. “There are several schools, actually. I have a B.A. in International Affairs, and I’ve attended protocol schools on both coasts. But my family was in the Foreign Service, so I’ve spent my entire life—”

“Really? Cool! Where did you live?” Evie spoke in a series of exclamation points, which wouldn’t be too bad if she would stop interrupting.

“D.C., Germany, England, Japan. Asian culture is a special interest of mine.” While she had Will’s attention, Gwen debated adding more to that statement in hopes he’d make the connection to what she could do for HarCorp’s expansion plans. The opportunity was lost almost immediately, though, as Evie sped on to the next topic of what was beginning to feel like an inquisition.

“Did you have to go to special classes and stuff so you wouldn’t embarrass your parents?”

“Um, sometimes. My mother’s a fiend for proper manners, and she taught me most of what I needed to know. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been allowed in public.” She punctuated the statement with a grin, but Evie stiffened and glanced at Will. Okay, that may have been a sore spot for her, but she’d meant the statement to be funny. With the slight tightening of Will’s jaw as well, she realized her attempt at humor had fallen flat. The light mood turned tense. So, it seemed that was a touchy subject in the Harrison household as well. She hurried on to cover the awkward moment. “But a lot can be learned from books, so I brought you some reading material.”

Evie rolled her eyes. “More homework.”

Will pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “You’ll have to excuse me, ladies. I have a conference call in ten minutes. I’ll leave you two to get to know each other.” A second later, he was gone.

Evie merely nodded and went back to her dinner. Gwen, however, felt her jaw hit the table before she could stop it. Jeez-Louise. A certain amount of laxity was allowed at family meals, but this was ridiculous. She chose her words carefully. “Is this a normal occurrence?”

Evie poked at her peas. “Not really.”

Gwen felt her shoulders sag. “Oh, good.”

Continuing to push her peas around aimlessly, Evie didn’t seem to notice Gwen’s relief. “Will normally eats in his office if he’s home. Sometimes we’ll watch a movie or something while we eat.” She looked around the dining room with interest. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve eaten in here.”

Gwen choked, then swallowed her lecture on the importance of family meals taken at the table. Her own parents had been such sticklers for family meals, partly due to Mother’s abhorrence of the mere idea of a TV tray. One of the first things she did when she moved out on her own was to eat dinner in the living room. She’d felt so rebellious, she nearly had to call home to brag about her indiscretion.

Evie sat up straight in her chair, drawing Gwen’s attention back to the situation at hand. “How am I doing? Am I hopeless?”

The earnest, expectant look on her face was so different from the usual teenagers that suffered through her classes, and Gwen’s heart clenched at Evie’s need to please. “You’re not hopeless at all, just a little rough around the edges. Would you like to start your lessons tonight?”

Evie’s eager nod would have been almost comical if Gwen hadn’t seen that need exposed earlier. “Then sit up straight, feet on the floor…”

“It’s taken care of, Marcus. Evie’s lessons start today.” The old man could be such a nag.

“Who did you hire? Did you check her references?”

Will hadn’t; that’s what he paid his secretary for. But Marcus didn’t need to know that. “Gwen Sawyer came highly recommended. She does debutante training.”

Nancy came in with his third cup of coffee and an armload of reports, giving him an excuse to cut the conversation short without too much guilt. “Unless you have some company business to discuss…”

“No, no. Get back to work. I’ll be by Thursday evening to meet this Miss Sawyer.”

That was the problem with working with people who’d known you all your life, Will thought as he hung up the phone and turned to the stack of reports Nancy left on his desk. They never believe you’re actually an adult. He was perfectly capable of hiring a tutor for his sister without Marcus’s oversight.

Evie was certainly thrilled with Gwen. He’d seen her briefly this morning, and she’d chattered on in her usual nonstop fashion about all Gwen had taught her after he’d left the table. And she’d thanked him again for hiring the one and only Miss Behavior.

Evie’s excitement was the reason he was currently surfing TeenSpace instead of concentrating on the reports from Tokyo littering his desk. Well, it was part of the reason. He had to admit he was a bit interested in Gwen Sawyer as well. Too bad he had to leave the table last night for that conference call—he’d been enjoying himself.

Telling himself it was his responsibility as Evie’s guardian to check up on Gwen, he’d headed to the Web site Gwen mentioned the night before. TeenSpace was a headache- inducing riot of color and graphics about TV stars and bands he’d never heard of. In the top right-hand corner of the home page he found the link he was looking for. The “Miss Behavior” page loaded and Gwen’s picture smiled at him over the phrase “More Than Forks and Tea Cups…Etiquette for the Twenty-First Century.”

“Etiquette” seemed a pretty broad term for what Gwen was dispensing in her column. Drama and angst outnumbered true etiquette five to one. Gwen was certainly trying, though. In addition to letters from her readers, she had column after column of basic behavior skills. He had to give Gwen credit; she seemed to give sound advice that her readers accepted at face value, and she was extremely, well, polite about everything. Any reservations he might have been entertaining evaporated. Gwen was definitely the right choice for Evie. Out of curiosity, he typed “Miss Behavior” into Google. An article from the Tribune popped up first.

“She’s Not Your Mother’s Miss Manners” Miss Behavior, the new etiquette expert on the Dallas- based TeenSpace Web site, has taken more than Dallas by storm. Hits to the teen-centered site have tripled since she came on board nine months ago, and she gets more e-mail from the site than any other columnist. Part Miss Manners, part Dear Abby, her answers to teens’ modern-day etiquette dilemmas are succinct, sassy and spot-on. In real life, Miss Behavior is Gwen Sawyer, a Dallas etiquette consultant favored by debutantes…

Nancy buzzed the intercom, interrupting his reading.

“Mr. Harrison, Miss Sawyer is on line one.”

Already? Had Evie pushed her over the edge in less than twenty-four hours? “Gwen?”

“I’m sorry to bother you—so I won’t keep you but a minute—but I need to tell Mrs. Gray what time to serve dinner this evening. Is seven all right?”

“I’ll just grab something on the way home, so…”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to work.” Gwen sighed. “I’d hoped to talk to you about this last night at dinner but you were, um, called away before I could.”

Gwen sounded irritated. Evie must be giving her problems. “And?”

“If you want Evie to make progress, she’s going to need to practice. But she needs to practice with someone other than just me, and dinner is a perfect time. Every night would be best, but you’ll need to be home every other night at least.”

“I’m very busy—”

“I know, but we only have three weeks until the Med Ball. Do you or do you not want Evie to be ready?”

“Of course I want her to be ready—”

“Then we’ll see you at dinner. Seven o’clock. Goodbye, Will.”

His hackles went up. Who did she think she was? She worked for him. He buzzed Nancy with the intention of having her get Miss Behavior back on the line so he could get a few things straight about this arrangement…

An unfamiliar feeling stopped him. This was important for Evie; therefore, it was important to him. And what would it hurt after all? It would only be for a couple of weeks, and Mrs. Gray’s meals were a lot better than the take-away bistro on the corner.

“Yes, Mr. Harrison?”

“Find Mitchell and move our meeting back to five o’clock. I have to be out of here no later than six-thirty today.”

“Of course.”

“And, Nancy?”

“Yes, Mr. Harrison?”

He could not believe he was doing this. “Go through my appointment book and reschedule any meeting in the next three weeks that will run later than six.”

“Um…” He could hear the confusion in her voice, but she caught herself quickly. “Not a problem.”

Oh, it would be one hell of a problem. His schedule simply wasn’t that flexible. But he’d be able to assess Evie’s progress and report back to Marcus on a regular basis.

And seeing Gwen in action wouldn’t be bad, either.

“Sometimes, the dessert spoon will be above the plate, along with a dessert fork.”

Evie looked confused for the thousandth time, but Gwen was pleased that she didn’t show her frustration.

“So how’s that different from the soup spoon?”

“Silver is always placed in the order it will be used. Start at the outside and work your way in with each course.” At Evie’s disgruntled look, Gwen added, “And you can always pause for a moment and wait to see which utensil everyone else picks up.”

“No, I can do this.” With her back ramrod straight and a determined set to her chin, Evie went over the place setting again. Granted, Gwen’s teaching set contained enough pieces for the most formal of dinners—far more than Evie would ever be faced with unless she attended a state dinner at Buckingham Palace—but it didn’t hurt to cover every possible base. From past experience, Gwen knew that if Evie felt like she had this under control, any regular setting would seem like child’s play.

“Red wine, white wine, champagne, water. My glasses are to the right.” She touched each piece as she spoke. “Fish fork, salad fork, dinner fork, bread plate and butter knife—”

“Good God, what are we having for dinner?”

Gwen looked up to see Will standing in the doorway, tie loosened and his briefcase still in his hand.

Evie paused in her recitation. “Baked chicken and green beans.” Without waiting for a response, she continued. “Service plate, soup bowl, soup spoon, oyster fork…”

Gwen stepped from behind Evie’s chair. “It’s a teaching set. Every possible fork she might come across. I think Mrs. Gray will let us slide with a smaller setting for tonight.”

She caught the amused smile playing at the corners of Will’s mouth. “Well, that’s good to know.”

“Hey, Will, did you know there’s a special fork just for oysters? I always thought you just picked them up and slurped them out, but Gwen says that’s not the proper thing to do. Did you know that?”

“I think slurping of any sort is against the rules. But how you’d get the slippery little suckers onto a fork is beyond me.” Over Evie’s giggle, he added, “I’m going to take Gwen in the other room for a probably well-deserved drink while you check with Mrs. Gray about what forks she does need on the table.”

Evie balked, and Gwen wondered if she’d ever help set a table before. A look from Will sent her scurrying for the kitchen.

“I’ll come get you guys when it’s time to eat.”

“A drink, Gwen?”

“I’d love one, but not because Evie’s driven me to it. She’s done very well today.”

“That’s good to hear.” Will stepped back and indicated she should lead the way. In the hallway, Will dropped his briefcase on a side table and fell into step beside her. She gasped as his hand went to the small of her back, the warmth seeping through her shirt to heat her skin. She swayed, her balance suddenly off-kilter.

It’s just a polite gesture, nothing more. Still, the shock propelled her the last few feet into the living room and away from his touch.

She took a seat on the long, butter-soft leather sofa and watched as Will poured two glasses of wine from the bar. He handed her a glass and stepped away. She took a sip, glad to see her equilibrium had returned with distance.

Will seemed unaware of her discomfort. He took the wing chair opposite her and relaxed against its back. “I’ve never seen someone so excited about oyster forks and soup spoons.”

“Evie’s just eager to please right now. Everything is new and, therefore, fun. It’ll pass in a few days. Believe me.”

“So you’re settled in okay?” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing in funny spikes. She was still having problems reconciling the Will Harrison from the papers with the one she was seeing in person. The corporate CEO didn’t mesh with the man in front of her, the one who sputtered at the sight of a formal place setting and teased his little sister about oysters.

“Yes, thank you. Your home is lovely.” Funny, this room felt smaller than it did when she and Evie were in here earlier. Polite small talk. Come on, Miss Behavior, you can do small talk. She took another sip of her wine. “Did you have a good day?”

“I guess you could call it that.” Will removed his tie completely and tossed it over the arm of the chair before unbuttoning the top three buttons of his white dress shirt, exposing bronze skin underneath. Although Will continued talking, she wasn’t able to concentrate on his words. Definitely some kind of outdoor activity. The lack of a tan line at the base of his throat meant whatever he did outside, he did it shirtless.

Pull it together. She had no business pondering his shirt- free activities—whatever they might be. She should have known after her reaction to him in his office yesterday that moving in to such close proximity would be a very bad idea. Then she’d compounded the problem by insisting he be home every night for dinner. How long before he fired her for gawking at him? Not only was it extremely bad manners—and she should know—but it was unprofessional as well.

This adolescent mooning had to stop. She was not going down that path again. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. Or at least she thought she had. Obviously her libido was a bit of a slow learner. Maybe it was just because she’d been in a bit of a dating dry spell recently.

Fine. The day after the Med Ball she’d start dating again. She’d let Sarah set her up, hit the bars, try an online site—anything. She just needed to make it until then without making a fool of herself again.

Focus on Evie, and try to forget about her brother. Easier said than done, when even as she promised herself she’d find a man soon, she could still feel his hand on the small of her back like a brand.

Will sat on the balcony, his legs stretched out on the railing and a drink in his hand. The lights of Dallas spread out in front of him, twinkling in the darkness.

Evie and Gwen were both in their rooms and Mrs. Gray had long since gone home, and the apartment had fallen silent. At first, the quiet felt odd; he kept expecting to hear Evie’s stereo or Mrs. Gray banging pots and pans in the kitchen. Funny how quickly he’d adjusted to having people around—Evie, Mrs. Gray and now, Gwen.

The balcony off Gwen’s room angled his, and the glow from behind her curtains meant she was still awake. He’d heard the unmistakable click of computer keys as he walked by earlier. Was she a workaholic, taking advantage of the quiet evening to answer the etiquette questions of the country’s youth? If he knocked on her door, would she join him for a drink on the balcony instead?

When he’d opened the front door, he’d heard Evie’s recitation of flatware and gone to the dining room expecting to find Miss Behavior in full form. He’d been struck speechless instead. Gwen’s sensible suit had disappeared, replaced by a simple sundress that flowed over her curves intriguingly. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, and as she’d passed him in the hallway, he’d caught a faint whiff of lavender.

The scent suited her: elegant, a bit old-fashioned and very feminine. He’d breathed deep and the residual tension of his day eased away. And while Gwen seemed to stay slightly on edge as they chatted, he’d found the wine to be an unnecessary additional relaxant.

He’d been charmed by her at dinner. When he agreed to be home for more family meals, he hadn’t expected to enjoy it so much. Evie’s presence seemed to melt some of the reserve he normally felt from Gwen, and he found her to be well-read and refreshing in her opinions.

And Evie! Gwen may have said it was too early to tell, but he could see the changes in Evie already. She did have natural charm, and under Gwen’s gentle guidance, she was learning how to use it.

The light in Gwen’s room went dark, and he’d missed his chance to offer her a nightcap.

It was probably just as well—getting involved with his sister’s tutor in any way could only cause problems. If he’d learned nothing else from his father’s late-life love affair, he certainly knew the folly of fishing in the company pond. At least the various women Marcus kept pushing at him as potential partners would never cause the same embarrassment Rachel had. They had their own wealth, their own family connections—they didn’t need his in order to climb the social ladder.

Nope, he was better off enjoying the evening alone.

Then why did he have this lingering regret he hadn’t asked her earlier?

CHAPTER THREE

THIS was definitely the way to work.

The guest room of Will’s penthouse had its own private balcony, and Gwen had taken her laptop outside. Looking over the railing from almost twenty floors up had made her feel dizzy, but as long as she stayed away from the railing, she was fine. The small table and chairs had enough room for her computer and paperwork, and she could enjoy the summer breezes while she worked.

Mrs. Gray brought her a small pot of tea and some snacks about the time Evie went downstairs for her tennis lesson, and the apartment was quiet except for the jazz floating from the CD player inside in her bedroom. She loved her little 1920’s cottage and the charm of M Street, but this she could get used to.

She posted her column to TeenSpace and answered a few e-mails. For the most part, she’d been able to either postpone clients or move them to the blocks of time she knew Evie would be with her tutors or at a lesson, but she’d sent a few to a friend and former classmate who did some deb training on the side. The obnoxious sum of money Will was paying her for this job more than covered the loss of income from those few classes.

She was just shutting down her laptop when her cell phone rang.

“You never called yesterday and I’m dying to hear everything.” Her sister sounded as eager as Evie.

“I know. I was busy getting settled in, and Evie and I worked most of the day.” The breeze on the balcony made it hard to hear Sarah, so she went inside and flopped on the sinfully wonderful bed.

“And…”

“The guest room here is nicer than that five-star hotel we stayed at in D.C. last year. The bathroom is the size of my bedroom at home and done completely in marble. The bedroom is huge, and I have my own balcony. It’s incredible.”

“Even the hired help lives the good life, huh?”

“That’s for sure.” Gwen rolled on to her back, felt the down duvet mold itself around her and stared at the hand-painted ceiling. “I swear, I feel like a princess in this room.”

“What about the princess herself?”

“Evie’s not bad at all. A little unsure of herself and the finer points of etiquette, but she’s far from the mess I expected. I’m going to bring her in Friday, if that’s still okay. I think you’ll like her.”

“Friday’s fine. E-mail me her picture and sizes. Now, quit stalling and tell me about the Most Eligible Will Harrison.”

Gwen nibbled on a fingernail as she hedged. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Gwennie!” Sisterly exasperation took over. “Details. Now. I’m holding your cat hostage, you know.”

“Okay, okay. He’s even more handsome than his pictures, and he can be quite charming when he wants to. Trust me, charm is not something the Harrison family lacks.” So it wasn’t the full truth, but Sarah wasn’t ready to hear that Gwen was living with a man who oozed sex appeal. And she wasn’t about to go into the details of what that was doing to her equilibrium. “He’s really good to Evie, too, even though they’re still figuring each other out.”

“I hear a ‘but.’”

“But he’s terse sometimes and always seems to be thinking about something else when I’m talking to him. And if that damn BlackBerry rings one more time, I’ll—”

Sarah’s sigh interrupted her rant. “Not everyone feels the way you do about phones, Gwen. He’s probably a very busy man. BlackBerrys just come with the territory.”

It was her turn to be exasperated. “You know good and well that flesh and blood people—”

“‘Always take priority over any message in any other medium.’ Yes, Gwennie, I know. That speech is getting old, honey.”

“That doesn’t make it any less true.” She knew she sounded huffy and defensive, but she also knew Sarah had been brought up better than that.

“Maybe you should work on some new etiquette rules for this century.”

“The ones we have would work just fine if folks would only follow them.” Sarah started to interrupt again, but Gwen cut her off. “He brought it to dinner.”

“Oh.” Even Sarah’s lax rules on technology use included a moratorium on their presence at the dinner table. Mother had taught them too well. “So Will Harrison needs some work in the cell phone etiquette department. Big deal. He’s handsome and charming and richer than God. You can overlook a couple of flaws.”

“Sarah, I have no business even noticing his flaws. Evie Harrison is my business, not Will.” That needs to become my new mantra.

“So? You’re there. Living in his house. You’re both adults, and you never know…”

Sarah was going to drive her insane. “Forty-eight hours ago you were telling me what a bad idea moving in here was. You’ve switched camps pretty suddenly.”

“I just wanted to make sure you’d thought this whole thing through. Now that you’re there…” She trailed off suggestively. “Anyway, you said you felt like this was the right thing to do. That it was your chance. Maybe it is in more ways than one. Couldn’t hurt to keep your options open.”

“You’re jumping way ahead. Granted, Will is absolutely yummy—”

Sarah perked up. “Yummy? Really?”

Oh, for a different choice of words. Too late now. “This is business—and the future of my business. As you said, I’ve laid a lot of groundwork the last few years. I’m not going to screw everything up again with some silly crush on my boss.”

“So he is crushworthy.”

Gwen wanted to bury her head in the pillows and scream. “This whole conversation is ridiculous. Will Harrison barely knows I’m alive. I’m just someone he hired to tutor his sister. I doubt Evie’s French teacher is having this conversation with her siblings.”

“He didn’t ask the French teacher to move in, now did he?”

Gwen heard the front door slam and the pounding of feet in the hallway. Perfect timing. She sent up a quick word of thanks. “Evie’s back from her tennis lesson. I need to go.”

“But you haven’t told me anything—”

“I’ve got to go. Miss Behavior duty. We’re going to work on introductions and handshakes this afternoon.”

“Oooh, fun.”

“Sarcasm isn’t becoming of a lady, you know. Neither is that,” she added as Sarah made a raspberry noise in her ear. She heard Evie call her name as footsteps approached her room. “I’ll see you Friday, okay?”

“This conversation isn’t over, you know.”

“Yes, it is.”

“At least think about what I said. Don’t let past mistakes color your perception and cause you to miss out on an opportunity.”

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