“Who would have thought an ice queen like you would fall in love with a guy like me?”

“W-what?” Now Lara was angry. “There is nothing between you and me except the barest thread of tolerance. And just so you’re clear on this, love is the last emotion I’m ever likely to feel in connection with you.”

Darn the man. Bryce’s smile only deepened, making him look appealing, frustratingly handsome, infuriatingly confident. “Well said, Ms. Richmond. But since you’re obviously not indifferent to me—the true opposite of love—I’ll just go back to my office and figure out my next move.”

Bryce walked out, leaving her shaking, furious…and scared. Because somehow—she wasn’t sure how he’d done it—he’d just breached her defenses and opened up a possibility she couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow to be true.

Dear Reader,

March roars in like a lion this month with Harlequin American Romance’s four guaranteed-to-please reads.

We start with a bang by introducing you to a new in-line continuity series, THE CARRADIGNES: AMERICAN ROYALTY. The search for a royal heir leads to some scandalous surprises for three princesses, beginning with The Improperly Pregnant Princess by Jacqueline Diamond. CeCe Carradigne is set to become queen of a wealthy European country, until she winds up pregnant by her uncommonly handsome business rival. Talk about a shotgun wedding of royal proportions! Watch for more royals next month.

Karen Toller Whittenburgh’s series, BILLION-DOLLAR BRADDOCKS, continues this month with The Playboy’s Office Romance as middle brother Bryce Braddock meets his match in his feisty new employee. Also back this month is another installment of Charlotte Maclay’s popular series, MEN OF STATION SIX. Things are heating up between a sexy firefighter and a very pregnant single lady from his past—don’t miss the igniting passion in With Courage and Commitment. And rounding out the month is A Question of Love by Elizabeth Sinclair, a warm and wonderful reunion story.

Here’s hoping you enjoy all that Harlequin American Romance has to offer you—this month, and all the months to come!

Best,

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance

The Playboy’s Office Romance

Karen Toller Whittenburg

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Paula and Genell,

brave dames and true sisters of my creative spirit.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Karen Toller Whittenburg is a native Oklahoman who fell in love with books the moment she learned to read and has been addicted to the written word ever since. She wrote stories as a child, but it wasn’t until she discovered romance fiction that she felt compelled to write, fascinated by the chance to explore the positive power of love in people’s lives. She grew up in Sand Springs (an historic town on the Arkansas River), attended Oklahoma State University and now lives in Tulsa with her husband, a professional photographer.

Books by Karen Toller Whittenburg

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

197—SUMMER CHARADE

249—MATCHED SET

294—PEPPERMINT KISSES

356—HAPPY MEDIUM

375—DAY DREAMER

400—A PERFECT PAIR

424—FOR THE FUN OF IT

475—BACHELOR FATHER

528—WEDDING OF HER DREAMS

552—THE PAUPER AND THE PRINCESS

572—NANNY ANGEL

621—MILLION-DOLLAR BRIDE *

630—THE FIFTY-CENT GROOM *

648—TWO-PENNY WEDDING *

698—PLEASE SAY “I DO”

708—THE SANTA SUIT

727—A BACHELOR FALLS

745—IF WISHES WERE…WEDDINGS

772—HOW TO CATCH A COWBOY

794—BABY BY MIDNIGHT?

822—LAST-MINUTE MARRIAGE

877—HIS SHOTGUN PROPOSAL

910—THE C.E.O.’S UNPLANNED PROPOSAL †

914—THE PLAYBOY’S OFFICE ROMANCE †

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Prologue

Archer Braddock settled into a chair on the darkened terrace and folded his hands across the crooked handle of his cherrywood cane. Missing his wife of fifty-six years even more today than usual, he looked out at the gardens and the floral arbor under which his oldest grandson, Adam, had exchanged vows with Katie, his bride, only a few hours before. “Ah, Janey,” Archer murmured. “It was a lovely wedding, wasn’t it?”

The only answer was the sound of laughter from inside the house where a lingering assortment of family and friends had gathered after the reception. It had been an unconventional wedding—small, intimate and spontaneous. Not the long-planned and elaborately formal ceremony that might have been expected for a family as old and traditional as the Braddocks of Rhode Island. Certainly nothing like the party of one week before, which had marked both Archer’s seventy-ninth birthday and the brief engagement of Katie Canton to Adam Braddock. It had been a hectic eight days. There had barely been enough time to phone invitations and to secure the services of Pastor Dan from the First Methodist Church in Sea Change before Saturday and the wedding was upon them. But from beginning to end, Katie and Adam had made this the wedding of their dreams…the simple, sincere experience they wanted to mark the start of their life together.

It would be an unconventional marriage, too, that much was already clear. Not half an hour ago, the happy couple had left Braddock Hall heading for someplace neither of them had ever been—Omaha. From there, well, they’d said they would be in touch. Katie was a free spirit and Adam had committed to following her and his heart for a full year, making no plans beyond the immediate future, learning to live in the moment. It was a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn for him, but one Archer was very happy to see his grandson make. If not for Katie, Adam might never have given his soul a chance to breathe.

“I wondered where you’d disappeared to, Archer.” Ilsa Fairchild strolled across the terrace to the table where he sat. “James said you’d most likely slipped up to bed when no one was looking, but I had a feeling you’d be out here.”

Archer still had the desire to be a gentleman when an attractive woman approached, but the stamina to get to his feet had long since deserted him, so he simply welcomed his guest with a smile. “I’m glad you found me,” he said. “I’ve just been having a little one-sided conversation with Jane, asking her if she enjoyed the wedding today.”

“I’m sure she had the best seat Heaven could afford.” Ilsa sank onto a chair and relaxed with a soft sigh. “It was a lovely wedding.”

“Just what I was saying to Janey. I believe she was about to remind me that you deserve the credit for putting this particular match together.”

“I simply introduced the possibility. Adam and Katie took it from there.”

“Nonetheless, Ilsa, you are a matchmaker of uncommon skill and discernment and therefore, must take your share of the credit. I’ll confess that in the beginning I had my doubts, but I’m a true believer now.”

“You were always a true believer, Archer. It’s one of the reasons I agreed to help you find a match for each of your three grandsons.”

“And the other reasons would be…?”

Her smile teased him in the twilight. “Well, it helps that you can afford my fees.”

“You’ve earned that and more already.” Archer tapped his fingertip lightly against the gnarled curl of his hand. “I rather hoped my son might have had something to do with your motivation to make matches for the Braddock men.”

“James is engaged,” Ilsa reminded him in a voice that declared her feelings on the subject weren’t open for discussion.

“For the moment,” Archer agreed, stating by his own tone that he wasn’t ready to give up the idea of a better match for his fifty-four-year-old son. “So tell me who you’ve picked out for Bryce.”

“That isn’t my choice to make, Archer,” she scolded gently. “All I do is pay attention to the opportunities he may have missed and introduce—”

“—the possibility of a match.” Archer finished the sentence for her with a gruff laugh. “I should have known you’re too much of a professional to reveal your matchmaking secrets. But you’re right, Ilsa, I don’t need to know. I trust your powers of perception and hope my middle grandson rises to the occasion. I’d love nothing more than to see him fall in love with the right woman for a change, and take some responsibility for doing something other than entertaining himself and his friends. He’s too much of a Prince Charming for his own good.”

“I believe Bryce may surprise you.”

Archer inhaled the soft, summer air and gathered his energy to get to his feet and return to the house. “I hope so,” he said. “Because I’m about to drop a bombshell into his cavalier lifestyle.”

“A bombshell?”

Archer moved his cane to gain leverage and pushed up out of the chair with difficulty. When he was on his feet and steady, Ilsa slipped her hand under his elbow, offering support and making him feel gentlemanly into the bargain. She was a fine woman, a woman of substance and uncommon grace. If he hadn’t been too old for romance and still deeply in love with his late wife, he’d have gone all out to win her for himself. But he wasn’t a fool. He knew there was some spark of attraction between Ilsa and his son, and he wasn’t yet too old to hope it might still catch flame. After all, Ilsa was a matchmaker of quite ingenious talent.

“A bombshell of atomic proportions,” he confirmed as they walked toward the doors leading into the house. “And I suppose this is as good a time as any to deliver it.”

Chapter One

Bryce Braddock didn’t like weddings, which was strange considering that he enjoyed almost everything about them. The atmosphere was nearly always festive, the flowers fresh, the candlelight romantic. There was usually soft music, close dancing, good food, expensive champagne and an abundance of attractive women caught up in the romance of the occasion, eager for an evening’s worth of flirtation. In short, all the elements of a good party were present and accounted for at weddings—and there was nothing Bryce loved more than a good party.

But there was something in the wedding ceremony, itself—something about the solemnity of the vows, the “I do’s” and the “to love, honor and cherish” parts—that zapped the pleasure right out of the occasion for him. He’d never given it much thought before today, never pondered if maybe it was his father’s inability to keep his wedding vows, despite half a dozen tries, that had soured his attitude toward the institution of marriage. But a few hours ago, as he’d stood beside his older brother, listening to the recital of vows that Adam declared with such confidence, Bryce decided his own aversion to weddings stemmed more from an innate fear that he wouldn’t be able to honor such a commitment. After spending his life in the shelter of his grandparents’ devoted and loving example, he didn’t want to take the chance he might fail at something so important.

He wasn’t like Adam, wasn’t the deliberate, my-way-or-the-highway decision maker his brother was, didn’t have the same self-confidence or the same internal compass that always pointed true north. But then, he had yet to meet a woman like Katie. Two months ago, Adam hadn’t had a clue he’d be exchanging happily ever after promises today on the south lawn of Braddock Hall. Who knew? Maybe a few months down the road, Bryce might just find himself under a flower arbor, saying an unexpected and sweet, “I do.”

Uh-huh. Sure thing. That was about as likely as the Board of Directors asking him to step into Adam’s shoes as CEO of Braddock Industries.

“Believe it or not, it made me very happy to see you display your usual, blatant disregard for tradition today.”

Bryce recognized the voice. He sometimes heard it in his nightmares. “I live to make you happy, Lara,” he said, watching the last little bit of wine swirl in his glass and resisting the urge to turn his head and look at her. It was one of life’s wicked little ironies that she, who never had a good thing to say to or about him, was probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen…and he’d seen plenty. “But if you came over here with the idea of buttering me up so I’ll surrender Katie’s bouquet, you’re out of luck. I caught it and I’m keeping it.”

“Buttering, in all its various contexts, will continue to be one of the many things you and I never share, Bryce.”

That was more like the Lara he knew and didn’t love. “Ah, ah, ah. Never say never.”

“Never,” she repeated with irrefutable confidence. “Since it is traditional for single women to try to catch the bouquet and for single men to vie for the garter, normally I would think you a moron to have grabbed the bouquet as you did.”

Definitely the Lara he knew, always quick to zing him with an insult loosely wrapped in a slightly lesser insult. “But today,” he said, beating her to the punch. “…you’re just glad that at least one Braddock is behaving completely in character.”

“Right,” she agreed. “I was beginning to think the whole family has gone completely crazy, but then you shoved poor Thea Berenson out of your way and snagged the bouquet, thus restoring some degree of normalcy to the day.”

Bryce hadn’t shoved anyone. He’d simply reached over their heads. But Lara was always eager to believe the worst of him and he, admittedly, was ever eager to support her cause. “That was Thea?” he asked, tossing back the last swallow of wine. “I thought that was you.” He turned then, and got sucker-punched by the sheer perfection of her Nordic beauty. Lara was tall, her forehead was even with his chin, making her five-eight or five-nine, before she added the height of heels. Her hair was silver-blond and probably long, although he’d never seen it any way but up. Her skin was as fair as a Southern belle’s, not a flaw or freckle to be found. Her eyes were the violet-blue of evening, when the sun is gone, but the night has not quite fallen. And at the moment, those beautiful eyes were staring at him with an expression much closer to disgust than interest.

“If I had been one of the bevy of women vying for the bouquet, and if I’d wanted to catch it, you wouldn’t have it now.”

“Your overwrought self-confidence is one of the things I like best about you, Lara.” He set the wineglass aside and sidled closer to her, lowering his voice. “But you can be truthful with me. I understand that at a certain age the biological clock starts ticking like a time bomb and women get pretty desperate to be married. And even though it’s only a superstition, if there’s any truth to the idea that the one who goes home with the bouquet is the next to be a bride…” Her eyes were turning stormy, but he continued in the spirit of generosity, and because he knew it would annoy her. “So for you, I’m willing to entertain any offer of sexual favors you care to put on the table. The bouquet could be yours if the price is right.”

Her caustic smile was both a reward and a punishment. “Always such a gentleman,” she said sarcastically.

Someday he’d like to be the recipient of a genuine smile from Lara Richmond. Apparently, though, today wasn’t going to be that day. “Wrong brother,” he corrected. “I believe the one you wanted just got married.”

She stiffened up like a starched shirt. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, relax, Queenie. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“If I had a secret, which I don’t, you’d be the last person I’d trust to keep it. You can be sure of that.”

“Okay, if you say so, but there’s no shame in admitting you’re in love with Adam. Half the women at the wedding today weren’t crying because they were happy.”

“Love?” She said it as if the word tasted nasty in her mouth. “For your information, your brother and I are friends. I’m sure that concept is not in your realm of experience, but you really should try it sometime.”

“Being friends with a woman? Now why would I want to ruin a promising romance with something as platonic as friendship?”

Her face flushed with rancor—he always had this effect on her, even when he wasn’t trying. “You’re right, Bryce. It’s impossible for you to understand how I might admire Adam for his intelligence and business acumen without putting your own decadent spin on our friendship. You certainly shouldn’t try to emulate anything you’re incapable of understanding.”

“A lot of big words in that statement,” Bryce pointed out cheerfully. “Are you trying to impress me with your command of the language?”

“I wouldn’t waste my time. In fact, I don’t know why I thought we might be able to exchange a few pleasantries on this festive occasion. My mistake.”

He was sorry he’d razed her now and as she started to turn, he snagged two glasses of wine from a passing waiter. “You’re right,” he conceded. “You and I should bury the hatchet on this singular occasion.” He offered her one of the glasses and raised the other, making it difficult for her to simply walk away. “Let’s toast to my brother and his bride. May they be as happy together as you and I will be apart.”

She could hardly refuse to drink to that, he thought.

She took the glass. “Hear, hear” she said and took a swallow of the wine.

She had great lips, full but not too wide, shiny now with the soft color of lipstick and the glaze of cabernet. There were moments when Bryce wished she didn’t hate him so forcefully. “Where’s the kid?” he asked, because he didn’t want her to leave him just yet and because he was curious to know how Ice Queen Lara was managing with her newly acquired nephew.

“Calvin?” Her tone was cautious, as if she suspected a verbal trap.

“Is that his name?”

“Yes.” Still hesitant, her gaze stayed on his, watching for the first sign of a joke at her expense. “How do you know about Cal?”

Bryce shrugged. “Adam told me.”

She sighed, but he couldn’t decide if it was because Adam had talked to him or because she didn’t know how much of the situation he actually knew. “He’s with a sitter,” she said. “Neither one of us would have enjoyed the wedding if I’d brought him along.”

“I didn’t think you enjoyed it very much without him.”

The truth of that was in the glance she flickered to his face and then quickly away. “I’m a little…unsettled…by the sudden turn of events, of course. Adam didn’t give much notice and things at the office have been chaotic this week, to say the least.”

“You should have been here. Monica nearly drove us all insane with her ideas for the wedding. Even Peter got rattled and usually, he’s as calm as the eye of a hurricane.”

Lara turned the glass between her long, delicate fingers. “Who’s Monica?”

It wasn’t difficult to locate the petite brunette, clinging to her trophy fiancé like poison ivy, and Bryce indicated her with a glance. “My future stepmother,” he said, taking another sip of wine. “Number six. Or seven. It’s hard to keep track.”

Lara’s gaze followed his. “For some reason, I thought your father was engaged to that lovely woman I saw sitting beside your grandfather during the wedding.”

“Ilsa Fairchild?” Bryce shook his head, feeling gloomier the further this topic went. Just yesterday, there had been an article in The Inquirer, citing inside sources that love was in the air at Braddock Hall and Cupid’s arrow had struck even the eldest Mr. Braddock. Archer had laughed heartily and proclaimed it nonsense, as all the tabloid stories on the tawdry loves and scandals of the rich and famous basically were, but he hadn’t denied it. And something was going on between Mrs. Fairchild and his grandfather. Even Peter thought so. But Bryce wasn’t going to discuss that with Lara or anyone else. “She’s a family friend,” he said, feeding her the line Archer had fed him. “I only wish my dad was smart enough to fall for someone that classy. It would make for quite a change.”

Lara sipped her wine, watching Monica across the span of the room. “She doesn’t look very happy.”

Bryce observed the pout on the brunette’s pretty face. “She always looks that way.” But it did seem that at the moment at least, James was standing firm and not giving in as easily as he usually did. There could be trouble in paradise. And about time, too, in Bryce’s humble opinion. Not that he wanted his dad to be unhappy. But anyone, probably everyone, could tell that James and Monica were not an ideal match. On the other hand, who was? Other than his grandparents and now, Adam and Katie.

“She’s very pretty.” Lara observed. “And young.”

“All my stepmothers are. It’s a requirement.” Hearing the bitter note in his voice, Bryce decided a change of subject matter was overdue. He didn’t want Lara to start thinking he liked having a civil conversation with her. Something like that could ruin her ideas about him. “So,” he said, bringing his voice back to a droll indifference, “are you polishing up your nameplate? Thinking about how you’ll redecorate Adam’s office?”

“What?” She was clearly startled by the question, or at least by the fact that he’d said aloud what had to be hovering in the back of her mind.

“Adam’s resignation as CEO is already a week old. Don’t tell me you haven’t already been in touch with Natalie Ossman. Or has some other trendy new interior designer taken Providence by storm?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, Lara, we both know you’re primed, ready and eager to fill Adam’s shoes at Braddock Industries.”

Chips of ice couldn’t have been cooler than the gaze she narrowed on him. “The board will not ask me to take on the position of CEO, although they should. No one is better qualified or loves this company more than I.”

Certainly not you, was the crisp subtext. Lara might not like him, but she never disappointed him with false flattery. “I agree with you,” he said, switching tone and trying sincerity for a change. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’ve earned the job.”

She blinked. “You do?”

“You betcha.” Bryce actually thought there was a possibility the board might name her Chief Operating Officer, which would be a coup for both her and the company in his opinion. Not that anyone was likely to ask his opinion. “Much better you than me.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to argue that point.”

Oddly, he had. For no reason other than she never agreed with him on anything, whether he was right or wrong. It rankled, somehow, that for the five or more years she’d worked as Adam’s assistant at Braddock Industries, Bryce had yet to convince her he was not a moron simply because his life philosophy didn’t involve a three-piece suit and a leather briefcase. She persisted in believing he had about as much depth as a wading pool. Not that he’d ever expended much effort to disabuse her of the idea. “Believe it or not, Lara, arguing isn’t the only way to carry on a conversation with me.”

“You can’t believe the board would seriously consider you,” she said with unflattering conviction. “You’ve never worked a day in your life. You wouldn’t take the job even if they were—” She stopped herself, but he easily filled in the blank with a silent “stupid enough to give it to you,” although she finished with a less offensive, “—inclined to give it to you, anyway.”

“You probably shouldn’t count on the board offering the position to you, either.”

Her expression changed again, became defensive. “I never count on anything,” she said sharply. “Life is safer that way.”

“Also boring.”

“Well, we can’t all live the fascinating life you do, can we, Bryce? Someone has to be responsible for running the family business.”

This was getting personal and he didn’t like it. Bad enough he’d grown up in the awesome shadow that Adam cast, he didn’t need Adam’s assistant—beautiful as she was—taking over that duty now that Adam wasn’t here to do it. “Yes, Lara, someone does have to be responsible and I’m very happy it doesn’t have to be me.”

“That makes two of us.”

She turned to go, the wine swirling to the brim of her glass in her agitation and haste, but her exit was blocked by the halting approach of Archer Braddock and Ilsa Fairchild, arm in arm, smiling as if they’d been out for a lover’s stroll in the moonlight. “Lara,” Archer said, smiling. “You look lovely, my dear. I know you’re going to miss Adam as much as the rest of us.”

“Probably more.”

Archer’s laughter was gruff and held a note of weariness in it.

“I suspect that is certainly true. You’ve met Mrs. Fairchild?” He indicated Ilsa beside him, then seemed to remember he’d introduced them earlier in the day. “Oh, of course you have.”

“Yes,” Lara’s smile was real this time and reached Bryce by default. “It was a lovely wedding, wasn’t it?”

“Lovely and unusual,” Ilsa agreed, “Very much like Katie, don’t you think?”

“Possibly. I don’t know her well at all.”

Bryce realized then that part of Lara’s edginess stemmed not from her dislike of him, but from uncertainty. She’d thought all along that she knew Adam so well—better maybe than anyone—and suddenly, he’d met Katie then become someone she didn’t know at all. Now he was gone and her position at the company was precarious. Bryce couldn’t believe she would lose her job—the woman was a huge asset. He had no doubt she could run the company without a Braddock anywhere around to advise her. She loved the business. It was her passion. He’d observed her at the office enough to recognize passion when he saw it. But it was a huge operation and a family one, besides. And if James or Peter were tapped for the position, it was entirely possible Lara would be phased out in favor of someone who didn’t worship quite so loyally at Adam’s shrine. That, in Bryce’s opinion, would be a waste of a great resource, not that anyone cared what his opinion might be.

“Bryce,” Archer said to him, the note of weariness dropping away before a chairman of the board tone of sobriety. “Congratulations are in order for you today, too.”

Bryce grinned, suspecting his grandfather was going to tease him about breaking time-honored tradition and snagging the bride’s bouquet for himself. “News of my own impending marriage is greatly exaggerated, Grandfather,” he said. “Bouquet or no bouquet, it’s merely a superstition.”

Archer smiled and set a firm, if slightly shaky, hand on Bryce’s shoulder. “But news of your appointment as the new CEO of Braddock Industries isn’t. The board met yesterday and you were elected by a unanimous vote. Congratulations.”

Bryce felt his throat close as the noise of conversation in the room faded to a dull, background buzz. Chief Executive Officer? Him? He swallowed, wished he had something else to drink, something strong and caffeinated and not even slightly intoxicating, although he was far from drunk now. “CEO?” he repeated stupidly, but his grandfather was moving on, leaning more heavily on his cane than normal, his shoulders showing the slight droop of a long, exhausting, exciting week.

And suddenly, Bryce recognized the energetic zing coursing through his veins. Excitement. He was the new CEO. He’d been elected by the board. Unanimously. This was Adam’s doing. Maybe Archer, too, had done some behind the scenes politicking. Even James could have twisted an arm or two. Bryce knew he couldn’t claim to deserve this opportunity, hadn’t ever allowed himself to believe he wanted it. But now that it was his, he took it as the gift Adam had surely meant it to be. “Wow,” he said, turning with a smile and coming face-to-face with the outrage and anger in a pair of beautiful violet-blue eyes.

“Congratulations,” Lara said tightly. “My resignation will be on your desk Monday morning.” Then she was gone…not even noticing she’d managed to wipe the smile right off of his face.

Chapter Two

“Look, Mommy!”

The high, reedy voice broke through Lara’s fierce attempt at concentration for the umpteenth time. She sighed, laid her thin, platinum pen sideways across the resignation which she couldn’t seem to stop editing and walked around the big mahogany desk. Grasping the arms of the black leather chair, she stopped it in midspin and leaned in until she was eye level with her nephew. “Calvin?” she said as patiently as a weekend’s worth of worry and fretting and not enough sleep would allow. “I’m Aunt Lara. Remember? We talked about this yesterday.” And the day before that and the day before that. Several times a day, in fact, every single day of the twelve and a half days since she’d rescued the four-year-old from his father, her no-account brother, Derrick. “I’m not your mommy.”

Calvin squinched his big brown eyes into a tight frown, which instantly resolved into a heart-squeezing, gap-toothed grin. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I ‘member.”

Lara smiled back because it was impossible not to and because she wanted the little guy to feel good about himself. Lord knew, his situation wasn’t anything to smile about and the child-development books she’d been reading by the pound all spent endless pages on the importance of self-esteem. “Did you need something, Cal?” she asked, prodding him to recall why he’d interrupted her this time.

“Yeah. This is a cool chair.” He pried her hands easily from the leather and used them to push off, spinning in a continuous circle of big black chair and small, strawberry-blond boy.

Adam’s chair, Adam’s desk, Adam’s whole office was cool. And Lara mourned with a pitiful and pious regret that after today, she’d have no reason to be in it. She really didn’t have much of an excuse to be in here now, other than to put her letter of resignation on the desk. But her nephew had discovered the miracle of a chair that spins, and she had discovered a mistake on a last read-through. No way could she end this letter wishing Bryce Braddock success. It was dishonest, untrue and smacked of insincerity. She could do better, so she’d lingered to mull over a more perfect wording that would convey, both, her genuine regret at leaving and her complete lack of confidence in the new CEO…without coming right out and saying so. The letter needed to be succinct, professional and elegant in what it said, and even more so in what it didn’t.

Not that her archenemy would recognize nuance if it slapped him square in the middle of his too-handsome face. How the Board of Directors could put such an irresponsible, egotistical slacker in charge was beyond her comprehension. She’d expected James to step in when Adam stepped out, or possibly Peter, whose inexperience in the overall operations at Braddock Industries was somewhat mitigated by his fierce pride in the company his forefathers had built. But she’d never once thought Bryce, who spent every day like the proverbial grasshopper, could make the final cut. He was a thousand times worse than her worst case scenario—and since Adam’s stunning desertion, she’d come up with several atom-bomb possibilities. None of them even close to the disaster that had actually happened.

In a just universe, Bryce Braddock wouldn’t even be allowed in this office after-hours as a janitor. He might be twice as charming as either of his brothers and he was, without a doubt, the most classically handsome of the three, but he had less than half their substance and smarts. He had no business—none!—sitting in Adam’s chair and trying his inept hand at running a company as fine and successful as Braddock Industries. It was ludicrous, awful and, unfortunately, true.

And she should quit messing with the wording of her resignation, drop it on the desk, gather the personal items still in her office and get out of the building before anyone else arrived. But even as she came to that reluctant conclusion, she heard the rattle of keys in the office beyond and a moment after that, Nell Russell, Adam’s personal secretary, peeked in from the doorway. “Well, good morning. You’re here even earlier than usual.”

“Hi!” Calvin, his cowlick aiming for the sky, gamboled upright in the still-spinning chair. “Who are you?”

“I’m Mrs. Russell. Who are you?”

“Calvin.” Just that quickly, the boy lost interest in the new arrival, dropped back in the chair and used the rubber sole of his tennis shoe against the desk as leverage to push off again. Lara hoped it left a smudge.

Nell’s eyebrows went up as her glance turned to Lara. “I take it the nanny didn’t last through the weekend.”

“I gave her the day off. I’m taking Calvin in to the education center for testing this morning, although he seems to be a perfectly normal four-year-old. According to the books.”

Nell eyed the whirling chair. “According to the books, he ought to be as dizzy as a bug in a bottle.”

Lara watched the spinning dervish for a moment, hoping her nephew wasn’t doing irreparable damage to his nervous system. “I’m not sure he’s that normal. He never seems to get dizzy. Or tired. Or sleepy.”

“Cranky?”

“Oh, yes. That he’s got down pat.”

“I meant you.” Nell moved closer to the desk, hands on her hips as she joined Lara in staring, almost mesmerized, at the whirling chair. “Guess you’ve heard the news,” she said after a minute. “About our new chief exec.”

That reminder broke the spell. Lara picked up her letter of resignation and offered it for Nell’s perusal.

Nell read it in silence, then placidly ripped it in two. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she said. “You are not giving up without a fight. Not while I’m here to talk some sense into you.”

“Oh, come on, Nell, this is a sinking ship. You know that as well as I do.”

“I don’t know that and even if it were true, you don’t want to be the first rat to jump ship.”

“No, that honor belongs to Adam.” Lara rubbed her temple, tired already, even before eight o’clock. “I’m not working for Bryce. I can’t…even if he could resist the delicious pleasure of firing me, which we both know he won’t.”

“He’s not as dumb as you like to believe he is,” Nell insisted. “And he’s certainly smart enough to know he can’t fire you.”

“He’s even dumber than I believe he is, and he will fire me at the first opportunity. Except that I’m not going to let him. Period. End of story.”

“Well, you’re not quitting, so get that idea out of your head right now.” Nell tore the paper in half again for emphasis. “This place would fall apart without you and Bryce is certainly smart enough to know that. Besides, Adam will be back. I give him a week of honeymooning, two at most, before he’ll be breaking his neck to get back here.”

Lara recalled all too easily the expression of wonder on Adam’s face when he’d looked at his bride on Saturday, and she didn’t think he was coming back. Not anytime soon. Certainly not in time to save her job. “You were at the wedding, Nell. You saw him. He’s not coming back.”

The truth of that was in Nell’s crisply assessing hazel eyes, but she wouldn’t admit it. “All the more reason for you to stay, then,” she said, quickly shifting tactics. “Bryce has never bothered with the business much. He’s going to need your knowledge of the company and your business savvy. He’ll want your help.”

“He’ll lock the doors and send everyone home before he’ll ask for my help. The man can barely stand to breathe the same air I do, and that goes double for me. So if he’s coming to work here, I have to either stop breathing or resign. Pretty clear choice from where I’m standing.”

“You could at least give him a chance to—”

Ka-thunk-a-thunk-a-thunk!

Lara turned her head in unison with Nell as the leather chair bumped recklessly against the desk, rocking as it slowed to a listing wobble. Ka-thunk. Ka-thunk. Ka…thunk. “Calvin?” The chair was empty, its well-worn leather showing less than a wrinkle where a small boy had been. “Calvin?” Lara’s voice rose, as did a knot of tension in her throat. Amazing, how quickly a woman’s maternal instincts kicked in…even when the woman wasn’t particularly maternal. An empty chair meant a child somewhere else and, if that somewhere else wasn’t within view, a completely out of proportion panic set in. She’d learned a lot about that smothering sense of alarm during the past several days. Calvin was turning out to be a regular Houdini. “Calvin,” she called louder now, her gaze sweeping the ins and outs of the room, any space a forty-pound boy might squeeze in, under or behind.

“The door’s open.” Nell was already heading that way, but Lara beat her to the doorway and into the next office, listening hard for the sounds of a small boy on the loose. A swift visual check under Nell’s neat-as-a-pin desk revealed no Calvin. There was no Calvin hiding behind the file cabinet, no Calvin in the coat closet either, and Lara’s strides lengthened as she started for the hall. “Calvin? Come back here, right now.”

A husky, little-boy giggle wafted back from the reception area at the end of the hall, followed by the slapping sound of small rubber soles on ceramic tile. Then the ding of the elevator bell, a faint, “Oomph!” and a surprised, “Whoa there, Peter Pan. You’re flying a little low, aren’t you?”

“Who are you?” Calvin’s voice demanded.

“I’m Captain Hook,” Bryce’s voice growled back playfully. “…and I eat little lost boys for breakfast!”

“Mommy!” Calvin shrieked. He was, understandably, not overly trusting of men these days. “Mommy!!!”

Lara came around the corner into the large reception area and Calvin practically buckled her knees in his clinging haste to get behind her. She wished there were someone she could put between her and Bryce, but unfortunately, all the available knees were taken. “You didn’t have to scare him to death,” she said defensively, because she was a little shaken and Bryce was a handy target. “He’s only four.”

Bryce looked from Calvin to Lara and, beyond her, to Nell. Then he stooped to the child’s level, even though he remained a respectful distance back. “Sorry, Cal,” he said with a smile, both beguiling and tender. “I’m not really Captain Hook and I never eat anything larger than a bagel for breakfast. I was only playing.”

Calvin’s death grip on her knees loosened. “Who’s Pe’er Pan?” he asked.

“A boy who can fly.”

Cal thought that over carefully. “Who’s Cap’n Hook?”

The corner of Bryce’s mouth lifted in tune with the arching of his eyebrows. “A pirate,” he said.

Stepping out from behind Lara, Cal kept his hand clenched in the linen of her slacks. “Who are you?”

Bryce stayed at the four-year-old’s level as his gaze momentarily lifted to Lara’s. “I’m your mommy’s new boss.”

“She’s not my mommy,” Cal corrected sternly and without prompting. “She’s Aunt Lara.”

“In that case, I’m your Aunt Lara’s new boss.”

Intent on clearing up any possible misunderstanding, Cal raised a determined little chin. “I’m the boss of myself.”

“That’s an interesting philosophy. What does your Aunt Lara think about it?”

“She likes it,” Cal stated confidently.

“I’ll just bet she does.”

“Uh-huh.” Calvin, sensing a kindred spirit, but not quite sure enough to risk getting too close to Bryce, stepped away from Lara into the no-man’s land in between. “Who’s the boss of you?”

“Until today, I was the boss of myself, too, but now I think the shareholders may have the upper hand.”

“I hold Aunt Lara’s hand when we cross the street,” Calvin informed him. “So she won’t get runned over.”

“I’m glad to know that, Cal—is it all right if I call you Cal?”

The child nodded solemnly, his little chest expanding with self-importance, obviously falling victim to Bryce’s charm despite Lara’s devout wish otherwise.

Bryce sealed the deal with an answering nod. “I’m glad you keep your Aunt Lara safe, Cal, because that is a very important job. I would be very sad if anything happened to her.”

Oh, right, Lara thought. As if he wouldn’t shove her in front of the nearest Mack truck if he thought he could get away with it. But he was being nice to her nephew, and for that she could give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Me, too.” Calvin smiled up at her with the gaptoothed grin that had already found a soft spot in her heart. “He likes you same as me, Aunt Lara.”

“Mm-hmm,” she said without conviction. “You know what? It’s time for us to leave, partner. Are you ready to go?”

The child’s eyes widened and his eyebrows dipped in a calculating vee, an expression with which Lara had become very familiar over the past week and a half. It meant Calvin had an agenda. “I got to spin first,” he said and dashed off, a streak of pure energy in a red striped shirt and denim overalls, racing down the hall, heading for Adam’s office and the whirling chair.

Bryce pushed to his feet. “Does he go everywhere at that speed?”

“No,” Lara said with a sigh. “Usually he goes faster.”

“I guess there’s a good reason he couldn’t spin right here?”

“Two seconds after we walked into Adam’s office, Calvin discovered the chair will turn in a complete circle and he’s been whirling like the Tasmanian Devil all morning.”

One corner of Bryce’s mouth tipped with a half smile. “All morning, huh? Sounds like you’ve been here since dawn. Is that your normal schedule or are you trying to impress your new boss?”

“You are not now and never will be my boss.” Lara hadn’t meant to snap, but the edginess was just there in her voice, in the thick knot of injustice in her throat, in the sudden realization that he was wearing jeans and deck shoes and a shirt better suited to weeding the garden than working in an office. “The only reason I came in at all today was to leave my resignation on your desk. But—”

“You decided not to ruin my first day on the job.”

“Nell tore it up.”

Bryce nodded. “Good work, Nell. Give yourself a raise.”

“You can’t do that,” Lara informed him, thinking he’d have the company in shambles within six months. “Not that Nell doesn’t deserve a raise, but you can’t just give her one without going through Human Resources.”

The smile reached a wry completion. “Are you telling me I have to get permission before giving my secretary a raise?”

“Of course not,” Nell said firmly…no fool, she. “You’re the boss.”

“There’s something called protocol,” Lara said, the snap continuing undaunted in her voice. “Your first day might be a good time to figure out what that means.”

“You’re my assistant. You figure it out and tell me what it means.”

“I’m not—”

“Hey! Aunt Lara’s boss!” Calvin yelled down the hall for attention. “Come in here and watch me spin!”

“I’ll go after him.” Nell turned on her heel, directing a stern glance over her shoulder at Bryce. “You convince Lara to stay.”

“Consider it done,” Bryce said as Nell walked away and around the corner at a sensible, unhurried pace.

“Not you!” Calvin’s voice was loud and commanding as he caught sight of Nell. “Aunt Lara’s boss!”

“He’s busy,” Nell said in a voice that was softer, but just as commanding. “For now, you’ve got me and I’m going to get to that chair first.” There was a momentary lull after the threat, then the muffled shuffle of Nell pretending to run and of Calvin racing to stay ahead of her and then a faint, but audible shout of childish glee. “I beat you!”

Lara frowned, feeling she had to offer some sort of explanation for Cal’s exuberance. “He likes to get everywhere first,” she said.

“Things like that are important when you’re four. Plus, it is a really cool chair. I’ve taken a few turns in it myself.” His smile turned persuasive and charming. “Stay, Lara.”

“No,” she said in succinct answer and turned away because…well, because he was persuasive and charming. “I can’t, even if I wanted to.”

“But you do want to, don’t you, Lara?”

His soft challenge stopped her, the truth of it sifting through her like a fine powder, coating all her denial. She did want to stay, if only to see him fail. “There has never been any love lost between us, Bryce. We both know that and you’re not going to trick me into saying I love my job just so you can take even greater pleasure in firing me.”

“You believe I’d fire you?”

“In a heartbeat and with great pleasure.”

His expression changed and when he spoke again, the teasing note she always heard in his voice was missing. “You know, for years now I’ve harbored the idea that you knew me perhaps better than anyone. Didn’t like me, but understood essentially, who I am. It’s a disappointment to discover you know nothing about me, at all.”

She felt ashamed, for some unimaginable reason. “I can’t think how you ever got such a ridiculous idea.”

“Maybe because of the inordinate amount of energy you expend to convince me of how smart you are.” His smile scolded her gently. “But quitting because you’re afraid to work with me isn’t smart, Lara. You’re not a coward and this isn’t what you want, so cut to the chase, vent your real feelings and let’s get past this.”

He was so wrong, so very, very wrong, she hardly knew where to begin. “You won’t convince me to stay by appealing to my fighting spirit, Bryce. Believe it or not, I don’t particularly enjoy sparring with you and working with you every day would be just too exhausting.”

“Maybe, but it won’t be boring.”

How had he known that with Adam in charge, she had experienced occasional bouts of boredom? Adam was such a solid, deliberate thinker, never hesitant to make a decision, but not rushing into one, either. Risks were analyzed, considered from every angle, incorporated into the long-range plans. Lara admired that, but she also loved the adrenaline rush of danger, the moments when the only choice was to pick one risk over another. “I’m resigning, Bryce,” she said, hating the decision but knowing it had to be this way. “Effective immediately.”

He touched her arm, kept her from walking away from him and sent an unexpected tangle of sensations coursing beneath her skin. “I won’t beg, Lara, but I will ask you for two months notice. Considering your position and the difficulty in finding someone to replace you, I think that’s only fair.”

“Fair?” she repeated. “It’s not fair that Calvin has two parents who can’t take care of him. Compared with that, I think an employee leaving without notice is merely an inconvenience.”

“What happened to his parents?”

“Nothing happened to them. They’re just…” Lara sighed, not wanting to reveal her dysfunctional family, but unable to honestly sidestep the question, either. The truth was, she was furious with the whole lot of them and didn’t much care who knew it. “Marie—I can’t bring myself to refer to her as his mother, although she did give birth to him—found motherhood and marriage unfulfilling and left before Cal was a year old. Cal wouldn’t recognize her if he saw her on the street. I’m not sure I would, either. As for my brother? Derrick won’t take responsibility for himself, much less for a child. However, from time to time he catches the this-is-my-son-damn-it syndrome and pops in to assert his paternal rights. Marie, at least, is consistent and seems to have successfully forgotten she even has a child.”

“So where has Calvin been for four years?”

If possible, Lara hated this part even more. “With one or the other of my sisters. Apparently, they’ve been bouncing him back and forth between their apartments and a twenty-four hour day-care center. Then about three weeks ago, Derrick showed up and convinced Shelly to let him take Cal for the afternoon. When he wasn’t back two days later, my sisters called me.”

“They should have called the police.”

Lara knew that. But family ties ran deep, even when they were tangled beyond repair. “They called me.”

“And you called Adam.”

“He gets things done.”

A shadow skimmed his expression and was gone. “It’s a Braddock tradition. So you found Calvin.”

Lara went cold just thinking of her nephew’s life, remembering the little suitcase he’d been clutching like a lifeline when she and Adam had found him alone in a hotel room in Fresno. “He seems okay, happy enough, although I don’t know how he can be. I feel terrible for not stepping in and resolving this situation a long time ago.”

“Sometimes stepping in isn’t an option.”

Bryce’s thumb stroked the back of her hand in soothing circles and she realized she found the touch not only comforting, but somehow erotic. Great. Even her normal responses were all messed up this morning. She took back her hand. “Sorry, I don’t usually talk about my family.”

“I did ask.”

“You did, but that doesn’t mean I have to give you the ugly details.”

He shoved a hand into his hip pocket. “I thought you were explaining why you feel you have to resign, because Calvin needs a full-time mom for a change.”

The man was drawing all sorts of strange conclusions this morning. “I’m not his mother. This arrangement is temporary, just until my youngest sister gets her life squared away so she can take him back.” She shook her head for emphasis. “I’m the last person in the world who should be raising a child. My sisters haven’t made great choices for their lives, but they’re better at mothering than I am and Cal needs someone nurturing and maternal. That’s definitely not me. I’ve already hired a nanny to stay with him while I’m at work.”

“So you’re resigning because you’ve already accepted another job offer?”

“No, Bryce. I’m resigning because I can’t work with you.”

He looked surprised. “How do you know? You’ve never done it before.”

“I don’t have to bang my head against a rock wall to know it would give me a headache.”

“If you keep this up, you’re going to hurt my feelings,” he said, the teasing note returning to his voice, the sparkle of fun coming back into his eyes. At moments like this, Lara knew why women fell hard and fast for him.

Fortunately, she wasn’t so easily impressed. “It takes a tough guy to be the top dog around here.”

“Is that a fact? I thought all it took was the right office and a tough-as-nails assistant.” He paused. “Come on, Lara. Tell me what it’s going to take to get you to stay.”

She was puzzled by his persistence and, against her better judgment, flattered that he was working so hard to win her over. It was a ploy, just a way of gaining her trust long enough to set her up for a fall. Or maybe he wasn’t as dumb as she thought. Maybe he was afraid he couldn’t do this without her. Which, of course, he couldn’t. “I’ll stay,” she said, calculating the request he couldn’t possibly grant. “Providing I get a substantial increase in salary, a guaranteed bonus and—” She paused, then delivered the coup de grâce, “—you make me a senior VP.”

“Done,” he said without a blink.

“You can’t do that.”

“I just did.”

“No, you can’t just randomly award titles. The board makes those decisions.”

“They’ll endorse my decision.” His smile softened. “Adam isn’t the only Braddock who can get things done.”

“But…”

He extended his hand, clearly expecting her to accept the deal she’d put on the table.

Stalemate. She either had to back down or shake his hand. With an unexpected rush of relief and excitement, she put her hand in his and gave it a firm clasp. “I will not under any circumstances call you Boss.”

“And I will not call you Sweetcheeks.”

She let go of his hand abruptly. “This will never work.”

“Well, all right, I’ll call you Sweetcheeks, but I think the junior VPs will be jealous.”

How she could have let him manipulate her into staying, playing to her sympathy just so he could taunt her by sitting in Adam’s chair, behind Adam’s desk, taking over Adam’s office. “Forget it,” she said. “I can’t work with you.”

“Lighten up, Lara,” he said, his voice getting a bit testy to match hers. “You’ve been hanging around my starched shirt of a brother too long. You’ll find I have a more laid-back style of management.”

“Management, ha! You won’t last out the week.”

“Watch me.”

“Brave words for a man who hasn’t got a clue what this company is about.”

“You’ve always underestimated me, Sweetcheeks.”

“Don’t ever call me that again!”

“Aunt Lara?”

She whirled to see Calvin standing hesitantly in the hallway, shifting his slight weight uneasily from foot to foot. “Calvin,” she said, apology in her voice, regret that he’d heard her speaking so sharply to Bryce, to anyone.

“Are you mad?” he asked.

Lara was conscious of the tremor in his voice, the insecurity in the way his arms were tucked across his chest. He’d heard too many mad voices in his short life already. “No, Sweetie,” she said soothing him with a smile. “We were just talking about, uh, hurt feelings.”

Calvin considered the matter, then his smile beamed out, including them both. “If a feeling’s hurt, you should kiss it and make it all better.”

“Now there’s a good idea,” Bryce agreed, his smile returning as if the tension of a moment ago had never been. “In my experience, kissing makes everything better.”

Calvin nodded. “Kiss him, Aunt Lara, and then you and him come and watch me spin.”

Bryce’s eyes were alight with mischief when her gaze nailed him.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned beneath a falsely bright smile.

His answering smile was almost irresistible. “I was only thinking,” he said as if it were true, “that kids say the darndest things.”

Chapter Three

“And why do I need this?” Bryce leaned against his desk, arms crossed, watching as Peter finished setting up the indoor practice putting green.

“Think of it as a tool,” Peter said, eyeing the slope with a narrowed gaze. “To aid you in making important decisions.”

“Sort of like flipping a coin? Sink the ball, yes. Miss the putt, no?”

“More like you focus on improving your golf game and allow your subconscious to deal with the decisions.”

“Sounds a little risky considering I don’t play golf.”

“You’ll have to start now that you’re a big mucky-muck.” Peter made a slight adjustment, then pushed to his feet and reached for the putter. “All chief execs play golf and they all have a nifty indoor green like this one in their office.”

“Adam didn’t.”

“Adam’s a workaholic.”

Bryce smiled easily. “Are you saying I’m not?”

Peter lined up the first putt. “You work harder at enjoying life than anyone I know, which is why I’ve brought you this little gift. It’s my way of saying congratulations and don’t let that big desk and leather chair go to your head.” He tapped the golf ball and sent it rolling unerringly down the strip of artificial turf. Peter was a natural athlete although he seldom bothered to compete. Bryce suspected his younger sibling had always tamped down his competitive nature in order to avoid any possibility of a confrontation with either of his big brothers. It couldn’t have been easy coming to the Hall as an overgrown weed of a boy and finding a whole new family with an intimidating set of expectations. Nine was hardly the best age for a transition from one life to another; from virtual obscurity to public notoriety; from a series of ramshackle homes to an ancestral mansion. But like both Adam and Bryce, Peter hadn’t been given a choice. He was a Braddock, even if the family hadn’t known he existed before the day James brought him home. The Braddock brothers were all orphans in one way or another; motherless boys all three. Bryce considered it a tribute to their grandparents—especially their Grandmother Jane—that they’d all grown up to be self-confident, caring and responsible men. Different as noon from midnight, but still solid and secure in who they were as individuals, and in their role as members of an old and prestigious family.

“It’s a great gift, Pete,” he said, indicating the indoor green with a nod. “When I’ve been CEO long enough to actually get to make a decision, I’m sure it will come in handy.”

Peter handed over the putter for Bryce to try. “Decision-making comes sometime after the second week, I believe, which leaves you at least the rest of this afternoon and all next week to goof off.”

“I’m trying to impress people with my brilliant business style. Goofing off doesn’t seem the best way to go about it.”

“Trust me, you’ve already impressed them by showing up every day for five days in a row. Even I’m impressed. To be honest, I didn’t think you’d last through the first eight hours.”

Bryce was getting just a bit tired of people being surprised he had any work ethic at all. There had been little digs all week from friends and family alike. Sly remarks about stock prices taking a nosedive—which they hadn’t. Tongue-in-cheek remarks about long lunch hours and even longer afternoon naps. Remarks which were meant to be teasing—but weren’t. Little comments from the staff that told him the odds were running long against him. Drawing the ball onto the rubber mat with the putter, he debated tackling Peter on the subject. “You know,” he said, lining up the putt. “Just because I’ve never taken an active interest in running this company doesn’t mean I’ve never taken any interest in it at all. Until now, there was just no reason or opportunity to show what I do know.” Bryce tapped the ball toward the hole…and missed.

“Adam’s a tough act for anybody to follow and I certainly don’t envy you the task,” Peter said. “What I want is for you to do this your way and not his.”

Before he could follow through and assure his brother that he had every intention of playing this corporate game by his own rules, there was a tap at the door and Lara walked in. She’d been doing that all week, hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t waited for an invitation, had simply tapped on the door and entered. As if he couldn’t possibly be busy. As if it were inconceivable he might be on the phone or in a meeting. As if she couldn’t imagine any reason she should wait. He knew she did it partly to annoy him and partly as a subtle reminder that she believed she had more right to this office than he did. She would never have just walked in on Adam.

But while she hadn’t exactly treated Bryce with all due respect this first week, she hadn’t been overtly hostile, either and he planned to choose his battles with her very carefully. He’d make his point when he was ready and not a moment before, because contrary to her long-held prejudice, he wasn’t as dumb as she believed him to be. He knew her knowledge of the company and her passion for it couldn’t be easily replaced and he didn’t want to lose her. Not yet, anyway. But that hadn’t stopped him from wishing many times over the course of the past four and a half days that he’d just let her resign on Monday and saved himself a good deal of grief.

“Hello, Peter,” she said pleasantly, flashing a smile so incredibly warm it all but upped the temperature of the room by several degrees. But then her glance swung to Bryce, encompassing both him and the golf game in a coolly passive-aggressive disapproval. “I have some PBRs for you to approve and the contract amendment for the Boston Fidelity project.” She handed him a stack of papers the size of a small bomb, then her smile warmed again and swung back to Peter. “Great job on the Atlanta project,” she said. “I spoke with Ed Barnes yesterday and he couldn’t stop talking about how much he liked your work. A real rave review, Peter. You should be very proud.”

“Thanks.” Peter smiled in response. “I am rather proud of that whole project…if only because Adam really liked it.”

“And we’re all aware what a compliment that is,” she said with the teasing tone of an insider.

And Bryce felt suddenly very much like an outsider. “I should probably take a look at that file,” he said.

“Why?” Lara’s incredulous tone indicated her surprise that he even expressed an interest. “The deal’s done and the plans are already with the construction manager.”

“I’d like to be brought up to speed on all our recent projects. I’m sure you can arrange that for me.” Bryce tried for an authoritative tone, the CEO simply making a request, telling Lara in so many words he didn’t want to be shut out of the loop. The Atlanta project was in the final stages of approval, with actual construction scheduled to begin next month. As the architect, Peter had worked very hard on the concept. As the CEO, Adam had worked very hard on guiding the project to a green-light status. As senior vice president, Lara would be the liaison between Braddock Construction and the customer. As the newly appointed chief executive, Bryce had nothing to do with any of it. Unless, of course, something went wrong, in which case, he figured the blame would somehow come to rest at his door. Which was reason enough to know the history on any project. He handed the putter over to his brother. “Take another turn while I go over these reports.”

“I’ve checked the figures,” Lara told him. “All you need to do is initial beside Adam’s name.”

Peter grinned. “It may take a couple of years to get your name on the stationery.”

“It takes longer than a week.” Lara glanced at Bryce, her luscious lips curved upward in a smile, her eyes letting him know she doubted he’d be around long enough to have his name on the letterhead.

“I’ll just read these reports anyway,” Bryce said.

Lara was too professional to shrug, so she turned to Peter with another warm smile. “Any word from Adam and Katie?”

Peter shook his head. “Not even a postcard.”

“They are on their honeymoon, you know.” Bryce carried the stack of reports to his desk and put them on top of yet another stack. He was beginning to think the only thing Braddock Industries built, was a mountain of paperwork.

“Honeymoon or not, it isn’t like Adam not to check in.” Lara took the putter from Peter.

“I think we’re all seeing a new, wholly unexpected side of Adam.” Peter winked at Bryce in an exchange of fraternal understanding. “Our grandmother always told us, the love of a good woman would make us better men, but I thought she was being overly optimistic.”

“I always thought she was teasing,” Bryce said. “It’s hard to believe she thought we could get any better.”

“There’s always room for improvement, and some people have more room than others.” Lara bent to position the golf ball on the mat, her body curving like a slender willow, smooth and graceful.

Bryce admired the view, deciding there was at least one thing in this office which needed no improvement whatsoever. “Are you a golfer, Lara?”

“No,” she replied absently, lining up the putt and sinking it like a pro. “Never had the time to learn.” With a smile, she handed the putter back to Peter and dusted her hands, adding yet another accomplishment to her long list of efficiencies. No muss. No fuss. No bother.

Bryce seemed to be the odd man out in this competition. He frowned and turned his attention to the reports, reading the first one in a glance and reaching for a pen to etch in his initials. His hand came up empty. “I need a pen,” he said.

“A pen?” Lara asked as if he’d requested a breath of fresh air. “You don’t even have a pen?”

He refused to let her needle him and offered, instead, his best and most professional smile. “Why should I keep up with my pens when I have a lovely assistant who will gladly fetch one for me?”

She bristled. “I don’t fetch for any man, gladly or otherwise.”

“Hmm,” Bryce said. “I thought surely I listed that under your new job description. I’ll ask Nell to check on it because if we left off fetching for boss, we’ll certainly need to make an amendment.”

Her lips tightened. “Just give those reports to Nell when you’re done. Goodbye, Peter. It’s always a pleasure to see you.” Emphasis on the last word, of course. Take that! her body language said to Bryce as she walked to the door, head high, shoulders back, hips swaying tightly with her agitation. But he missed the point because even when she was angry, her backside provided a very intriguing view. The door closed behind her with a definitive click!

“Some resistance to the new management style?” Peter asked, a grin lurking in his eyes.

Bryce shrugged good-naturedly. “Change is more of a challenge for some than others.”

“That particular challenge could turn out to be more than you bargained for, brother. I’d be careful with her if I were you.”

“What could happen?” he asked with a laugh. “Are you afraid she might mastermind a mutiny? Instigate a paper clip rebellion? Murder me with kindness?”

“I think it could be worse than that.” Peter picked up the putter and returned to the indoor green. “There was a lot of intensity in this office just now.”

Locating a pen, Bryce initialed the first report and moved on to the second. “There always is whenever Lara and I are in the same space. I’m used to it.”

“Mmm.” Peter positioned the golf ball on the mat. “She’s certainly a beautiful woman.”

“Yes, and I’ve always thought that was particularly unfair. The soul of an ice maiden in the body of a sex goddess. Somewhere in heaven, the angels must be laughing at what a great joke that is.”

“Maybe. Or maybe they’re just pulling up chairs for a ringside seat.”

Bryce looked up. “To watch what? Don’t think for a second that I can’t appreciate her beauty without getting close enough to freeze to death. Right now, I need her business expertise. I know that. But if she gets to be more trouble than she’s worth, she’s history.”

“Mmm.” Peter sank yet another putt. “All I’m saying is you need to be careful with her. Any time you see that much smoke, somewhere there’s a fire.”

Bryce laughed, initialing faster as the reports became monotonous. “Thanks for the laugh, Pete, as well as the indoor golf. There’s been a dearth of humor in this office. Maybe I’ll ask Nell to subscribe everybody to the joke of the day on the Internet. What we need around here is more fun, don’t you agree?”

“Next time I come by, I’ll bring a basketball goal.”

“Great. I’ll have my lovely assistant suit up for a game.”

“Wouldn’t you rather beat me yourself?”

Bryce grinned. “Yes, but Lara would look much better in the uniform and I figure that’s a fair tradeoff, regardless of who wins.”

SKIRT HIKED UP on her thighs, belly flat to the floor, Lara reached as far as she could under the bed in a fruitless attempt to nab her nephew. “Calvin, I mean it. Give me my keys right now.”

He giggled with the high-pitched glee of a child who knows he’s in trouble, but is still pretending it’s all a big game.

“Cal,” she repeated, extending her arm another fraction of an inch and wondering why she’d ever bought such a big bed in the first place. Stretching her fingers, she just managed to brush against the nubby flannel hem of his boxers. He flatly refuted any need for pajamas, stating he was a big boy and old enough to sleep in his underwear, sounding like something her idiot brother would have said to a four-year-old, but Lara didn’t feel pajamas were worth a struggle. Although on mornings like this one, she wondered why she didn’t put the kid to bed in a straitjacket.

She wiggled her shoulder, scrunched lower under the wooden side rail and managed to gain enough ground to reach his bony elbow. But he jerked away with another giggle and her hand closed on the rim of a plastic bowl, her fingers plunging knuckle-deep into the slimy concoction Cal fondly called breakfast. “Oh, Calvin,” she said, disgusted. “Yuck. Couldn’t you at least have left your breakfast on the table when you took off with my keys?”

“I’m eatin’ bre’kf’ss under your bed, Aunt Lara.” And he sounded plenty proud of himself for the accomplishment, too.

Lara withdrew her hand, trying not to attract dust bunnies with the slimy pulp clinging to her fingers. Peanut butter and banana smashed into mush was the kid’s favorite food. He wanted it for breakfast, he wanted it for lunch, he wanted it for dinner, he wanted it for snacks. The pediatrician had said she should try to vary his diet, but considering the drama Cal’s life had been for several weeks, it wasn’t all that surprising the child wanted one thing in his life to remain constant, at least until he felt more settled.

Settled seemed to be an elusive feeling for Calvin, though, because he refused every other option offered. It was peanut butter and banana or nothing. So Lara gave him peanut butter and mashed up banana in a bowl—bread seemed to be out of the question—with a spoon and a glass of milk, and hoped he’d ask for a hamburger soon. She was beginning to smell bananas in her sleep and somehow, little dabs of the peanut butter goo clung to her fingernails and wound up in the strangest places. Since Calvin’s arrival in her life, washing her hands was becoming an every-five-minutes occurrence.

“Calvin,” she said sternly, as she headed into the bathroom to wash her hands, yet again. “Get out from under my bed right now. I’m not kidding.”

“I’m eatin’ my bre’kf’ss, Aunt Lara.”

“You come out from under there right now.” Her voice was as threatening as she could make it, and when she saw herself in the bathroom mirror, she realized she looked pretty threatening, too. During the chase, several strands of hair had fallen forward onto her face, escapees from the braid she’d twisted into a coronet at the nape of her neck. Her skirt was twisted and tousled, her nylons snagged and her silk blouse had lost its fresh-from-the-cleaners professional appearance. How, she wondered as she tucked the hair back into place, did mothers of four-year-olds ever get anywhere on time?

“Mommy? I mean, Aunt Lara?” Cal appeared in the mirror behind her, his mouth smudged with leftover breakfast, his cowlick waving like a white flag, the plastic bowl nowhere in sight.

Lara sighed, figuring she’d have ants by the time she got home from work unless she crawled under the bed again and retrieved Cal’s breakfast bowl. “What, Cal?”

“I love you very, very, very, very much!” His gap-toothed smile flashed at her in the mirror and then his arms wrapped around her thighs in a boy-sized hug. The kid was a master manipulator.

She could feel the stickiness of his fingers through her nylons, realized he was unintentionally wiping his mouth against her linen skirt, knew there was no hope of salvaging this outfit. She’d have to change clothes, which meant she’d arrive at work even later than she had the day before. Her reputation for being the first to arrive at the executive offices was suffering from a severe case of the mommy-track…a track she certainly hadn’t planned to take even as a slight detour. But as must be the way with real mothers, being late for work suddenly didn’t seem such a terrible compromise to make. “I love you, too, Cal,” she said and stooped to gather him in a fierce hug.

The doorbell rang a cheery summons. “Bridget’s here,” she said relieved, but somehow also reluctant to hand over the rest of Cal’s morning to the nanny.

But already his brown eyes were widening with excitement, his attention shifting. “Bridget,” he said and ran lickety-split from the room.

Okay, Lara thought. She’d start over, redo her hair, change her clothes, get a broom or something with a long handle and retrieve the bowl from under the bed and, hopefully, her keys with it. Then she’d ask Bridget—beg her if necessary—to come a half hour earlier every morning.

She couldn’t continue getting in late. Not when Bryce made a point of arriving on time. Not when he ignored her tardiness, acted as if it didn’t matter. But she knew he noticed, knew he marked it down on some cerebral scorecard, knew he would use it against her in some way, at some time in the future.

Glancing at the clock, Lara reached around to unzip her skirt. When her hand encountered a gooey streak of leftover peanut butter and banana, she sighed as she stepped out of the skirt and turned to wash her hands one more time. Bryce might be the one keeping score, but Calvin was definitely his able accomplice.

“MRS. FAIRCHILD, what a delightful surprise.”

Ilsa accepted Bryce’s welcome with a smile and allowed him to direct her to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice,” she said. “I know you must have a very busy schedule.”

“Me?” He laughed and instead of going behind the desk to sit across from her, he took the chair beside her, leaning forward, his blue eyes reflecting his genuine delight at her visit. “I’m never too busy when a beautiful woman is involved.”

And that, in a nutshell, was the problem Ilsa was having in finding a suitable introduction of possibilities for Bryce. He loved women. All women, beautiful or otherwise. In the months she’d been studying him, bringing all her own substantial powers of observation and intuition to bear on the situation, she’d encountered no one woman who seemed to excite his passion. And he was, she felt, a man of deep passions, despite his life-is-a-picnic, bring-on-the-babes persona. The right woman was out there, Ilsa knew. It was just a matter of finding her, which, of course, was the problem and the reason for this trip. “You may not be so happy to see me when I tell you why I’m here,” she said with a teasing laugh. “I’ve come to persuade you to co-chair the Cinderella Ball with me.”

His smile teased her in return. “That’s less than two weeks away. Don’t tell me, you’re short a Prince Charming and my name came instantly to mind.”

Truer than she cared to admit. “Actually, Nels Sanger has been working with me on the event for several months, but you may have heard, he’s having heart surgery and I’m looking for someone to fill in for him.” She paused for effect, then gave his arm a figurative twist. “Your grandfather suggested I ask you.”

Mentioning Archer had the desired result. Bryce’s expression changed, subtly but obviously. It was difficult for the Braddock men to refuse any request by their grandfather. “Granddad, huh?” Bryce used his own affectionate name for Archer, his smile less enthusiastic than before, although still warm. “I don’t suppose he mentioned that he’s persuaded me to take Adam’s place on the Sea Change Town Council, or that he just remembered to tell me that the CEO of Braddock Industries has always sat on the Providence Community Foundation board.” He spread his hands in a charmingly helpless gesture. “My dance card is pretty full already.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.