by Jenna Harte
Mission or not, he was Oliver’s family and was here when it was most important. She’d focus on that and hope she didn’t end up biting her tongue straight off.
Taking a few deep breaths, she closed Oliver’s door and made her way back to the kitchen. Drake was standing at the sink. He filled his glass with water and gulped it down. Setting the glass in the sink, he stared out the back window where a large yard filled with a lush green lawn and large trees ideal for climbing lay. After a moment, his shoulders hunched and he looked down. Was he rethinking his purpose in coming? He sounded firm in his resolve that Oliver help him, but now that he saw how sick Oliver was, surely, Drake’s priority would change.
He must have sensed her because he turned. For a moment, she thought she saw grief in his handsome features but, just like before, his expression turned impassive.
“I’ll show you your room now.”
He nodded and stepped toward her.
“The master bedroom is up here on the left.” She made her way up the stairs.
“What is this place?”
“Didn’t he tell you? He grew up in this house.”
“This exact house?”
“Yes. He bought it when he came down two months ago. I heard he paid twice as much as it was worth. It goes to show how much he loved it here.” She opened the door to a large room. “The home has been renovated, but since we don’t spend much time up here, we keep it closed.”
The plaster walls were painted in a cool gray blue that matched Drake’s eyes. White crown molding, curtains, and linens accented the room. A dark wood sleigh bed and dresser were the only furnishings. On the far side of the room were French doors that led to a balcony overlooking dogwood trees lining the side yard. Sometimes, after Claire left for the night and Oliver was sleeping, Lexie liked to sit out on the balcony and ponder her life. While she was a strong independent woman, her dream was much more traditional. She wanted a strong, loving marriage like her parents had. And children. Lots of them. Sometimes, she imagined sitting on the balcony with her dream husband and then retiring to the large sleigh bed to build their family. It was an old-fashioned dream. One she accepted would probably never come true.
“Why is it furnished if he lives downstairs?” Drake interrupted her reverie.
“Sentiment, I guess. This room was renovated by the last family to include an en suite bath.”
She watched as he toured the room. He should have looked out of place. Drake had New York power businessman written all over him, in his expensive dark suit and even darker scowl. And yet, somehow, he fit the room. It was cool and classic, like him. And sad.
She studied him closer. He hid that part under his dark, brooding control. But there was sadness in those cool gray eyes. Was it because of Oliver, or something else? Was there anyone in his life who could soothe it?
“Will Mrs. Carmichael be joining you?”
“There is no Mrs. Carmichael. At least, not attached to me.”
Lexie couldn’t decide if she was disappointed or relieved to learn of Drake’s marital status.
“Is there a room with a desk or workspace?”
“You can work in the beau parlor when Oliver isn’t available. I can arrange to have a table or something suitable moved into the room. It’s just Oliver and me at night, and Claire during the day, so it’s quiet.”
“Beau parlor?”
“It’s called that because it’s where gentlemen callers waited for or spent time with their lady friends.”
“I really am in the south, aren’t I?”
Lexie’s warm fuzzy feelings toward him dissipated at his condescending tone. “Why, yes indeed, Mista Carmichael.” Lexie laced her voice with as much southern accent as she could. “But you needn’t worry. While we do like our traditions, I assure you, we are quite modern. Men and women now can go out on dates without chaperones. Some even have sex.”
The minute the word left her mouth, she regretted it. Drake might be rude and intense, but it didn’t completely eliminate his attractiveness. He was the type of man who drew women to him, so odds were her comment would lead him to believe she was attracted to him. He’d probably laugh. A sophisticated New York City man like Drake wouldn’t be interested in a common southern gal like Lexie. As if to prove it, he took a blatant inventory of her body from her floral sneakers upward. His gaze lingered on her breasts before returning to her face. He didn’t laugh, but she wouldn’t say the dark look in his eyes was appreciative either. Once again, the air crackled with energy, making her every nerve come alive.
“Where do you stay?” His voice was low and husky. What was going through his mind?
“In the room off the kitchen.”
“Servant’s quarters?”
“It’s convenient to your grandfather.” She bit the words out, not bothering to hide the fact that his comment offended her.
He cocked his head to the side and studied her. “You don’t like me, do you?”
“I don’t know you well enough to decide. But I’m not very impressed so far.”
He nodded. “Me neither.”
Deciding to retreat before she lost control of her temper and her tongue, she moved to exit the room but turned back when she reached the door. “Will you be joining us for supper tonight?”
“Supper?”
“Oh, wait, I think you yanks call it dinner.”
“You eat together? With Oliver?” His brows furrowed in genuine disbelief.
“Yes.” Why was that so strange?
He shrugged. “Why not.”
She studied him a minute, but his expression and body language remained unreadable. With a shrug, she left him to settle in.
Lexie entered the kitchen, where Claire was wiping off the table. “I didn’t want to leave until I was sure the room was suitable.”
“I think it’ll do.” Lexie pulled out a stack of paperwork from a plastic bin she kept in a hutch in the kitchen. As she sat at the table, she realized Claire was watching her. “What?”
“That was some interesting chemistry going on between you two.”
“Oh, please.” Lexie pulled out a file, hoping she appeared nonchalant.
“Lexie McKenna, I’ve been around the block a few times and I know chemistry when I see it.”
“That’s not chemistry. It’s irritation. Like a heat rash.”
“Uh huh.” Clair smirked, not buying Lexie’s explanation.
“So what? He’s handsome in an intense, dark, brooding kind of way. But that doesn’t mean I’ll act on it. I know he won’t. Cripes, he called us servants.”
“Well, as nice as Oliver is to us, we are—”
“I’m his nurse, not his servant.” Lexie nearly growled from frustration. She was a woman of the south, but that didn’t mean she lived in the olden days. Even Scarlet O’Hara had spunk and lived on her own terms. The south was still steeped in tradition, but it didn’t mean women were subservient or relegated to class structure any more. At least not in Charlotte Tavern.
“You’re still his employee. People like the Carmichaels live in a caste world. You’d do well to remember that.”
Lexie regarded Claire. “And how about you? I didn’t see you hiding your opinion of Drake.”
“I’m older. When you’re old, you can do whatever you want.”
Lexie laughed. If anyone would live the “when I get old, I’ll wear purple” life, it would be Claire.
“But, I guess he’s fix’n’ to stay, so I’ll have to watch my tongue.”
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
Claire winked. “Now I’m going to the grocery. Need anything?”
“Drake says he’ll join us for supper. Other than that, no.”
Lexie sat at the kitchen table reviewing her notes regarding Oliver’s treatment and condition. He’d been in good spirits the last few days, which had made her job considerably easier. When she first met him, he was demanding and cantankerous, but over the last few weeks, he’d softened. Especially after s
he’d shown him the videotape she’d taken of the house.
She’d helped supervise the work when Oliver hired a decorator to furnish the place. He’d been a stickler for getting just the right pieces to match as closely as possible the pieces he remembered from his childhood. But his condition made it impossible for him to tour the upstairs, so she’d videotaped all the rooms, allowing him to view how well everything had turned out. At first, he was critical. He didn’t like that the former owners had turned two of the bedrooms into a single master bedroom with bath. The back bedroom was the wrong color. The kitchen stove was too new. Eventually, with her coaxing, he was able to see beyond how the home was different from his childhood and instead, see all the memories stored in each room. He began to share some of his stories, and ever since, he’d softened some.
Not that he didn’t give her a hard time occasionally, but she gave it right back to him. Mostly, he laughed when she did. Sometimes, he pouted. Either way, he seemed to like her candor. He was the only man she’d ever met who did. All the other men she’d known had said she was too bossy. No doubt, Drake thought the same. Too bad for him. He could try to intimidate her all he wanted. She wouldn’t back down.
The kitchen door swing open with a whoosh and Lexie became aware of the heady presence that could only mean Drake. Taking a calming breath, and plastering on a hospitable smile, she looked at him. “Mr. Carmichael.”
“I was hoping you’d show me the boyfriend room.”
“‘Beau parlor.’”
“Right. Can I see it?”
“Sure.” She closed her files and stood. “Follow me.” She started through the doorway. Drake turned his body to let her pass, but he was so large, their bodies came close to contact. They didn’t touch, but they didn’t have to for the heat to radiate between them. Drake took in a quick intake of breath and, for the first time, she wondered if he felt the snap and pop too. She glanced at his face and found his smoldering gaze showing both annoyance and attraction. Interesting. Before she could let “interesting” turn to terrifying, she slid past him.
She led him near the front of the home and entered the room on the right. “This is the beau parlor.”
He nodded his approval as he glanced around the room. Like the master bedroom, the beau parlor was furnished in the fashion of an early twentieth century home with a Davenport couch, antique wood chairs, and side tables. The midday sun spilled through the round bay window with a built-in seat covered in pillows. It was a favorite reading and napping place for Lexie. On the far side of the room, two French doors lead out to a sunroom. A small desk nestled in a corner opposite the doors.
“We can move the desk over by the window if you’d like more light.”
“This is fine. Is it hooked up for wireless Internet?”
Lexie’s brow rose. “I doubt there’s even a phone jack in here.”
“I’ll use my phone as a Wi-Fi hotspot.”
“You’re really going to make him work until his dying day, aren’t you, Mr. Carmichael?” She hadn’t meant to be critical, but she still couldn’t believe Drake’s only interest in spending time with Oliver was for business. Was that how all rich families operated?
“I’m only doing what Oliver raised me to do. He expects no less from me.”
“Don’t give me that Freudian ‘it’s my family’s fault I’m a jerk’ excuse.” She surprised even herself with the sharpness of her tone.
“I’m not blaming Oliver. To blame him would mean I think there’s something wrong with me. I don’t. You do. If you have a problem with it, take it up with Oliver.”
She put her hands on her hips and raised her chin. “Maybe I will.”
“Good. And he’ll tell you he raised my brother and me to put the Carmichael family business above all else.”
“Then how come your brother isn’t here?” She challenged him even though common sense told her it wasn’t her place to scold him. “Because he’s in New York trying to take the business over from me.”
“Wouldn’t your grandfather’s assistance help you more?”
“Not if my coming here is seen as a sign of weakness.”
“Weakness?” That took her aback.
“You think Oliver is a sweet old man—”
“Sweet isn’t the word I’d use.”
“But before he became ill, he was a ruthless businessman, intolerant of weakness, particularly in my brother and me.”
“So, you and your brother are fighting over Oliver’s business while he’s on his deathbed?”
He rolled his eyes, as if she was too dense to understand. “Someone needs to run the business. It’s his legacy. I’m sure he’d like the peace of mind in knowing the company will continue on for his grandchildren and great-grandchildren.”
“Mr. Carmichael, you and your family have your priorities all mixed up.”
“Probably. But it’s the family’s priorities.”
That made no sense to Lexie. Family should be a family’s priority, not business.
He gave a sigh of resignation. Did he think the priorities were out of whack too? “By the way, why do you call me Mr. Carmichael, but you call my grandfather Oliver?”
“He told me to. Why do you call him Oliver?”
“He told me to.”
Lexie shook her head. Most places outside of the south didn’t instill the use of “sir” and “ma’am” the way southerners did, but did northerners really allow their children and grandchildren to call them by their first names?
“So, am I to call you Mrs. McKenna?”
Lexie snorted. “My mother is Mrs. McKenna. I’m a miz, but you can call me Lexie.”
He nodded. “Well, Lexie, I have some work I need to do.”
She frowned at his dismissing tone. “I’m going to check on Oliver and then I’ll work on a schedule for the two of you.” She turned to leave.
“Listen, I’m sorry I grabbed you earlier.”
She looked back at him. She had no clue how to read him, but the fact that he said something when he’d viewed her as peon suggested he was sincere. She shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“I know you want to keep Oliver from overexerting himself, but I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important. Not just to me but to the people who work for him.”
As far as Lexie was concerned, it was important for Drake to be here, but not for the reasons he stated. It still boggled her mind that if it weren’t for business, Drake wouldn’t have come. “As long as he’s agreeable.”
“One more thing,” Drake said before she could turn away.
“Yes, Mr. Carmichael.”
“You can call me Drake.”
Chapter Four
Drake sat at the small desk and powered on his laptop. He’d only been gone half a day, but he was sure Derrick was already putting plans in motion to keep Drake from returning.
He should be pleased at the way things were going. While he was saddened to learn his grandfather’s illness was real, and not one of his strange ploys to test himself and Derrick, he was optimistic about his success in enlisting Oliver’s help. What he hadn’t counted on was Lexie. He’d been caught off guard by his response to her. She wasn’t the first woman to stand up to him, but she was the first to push him back on his heels. It wasn’t a feeling he liked. Even more disconcerting was when she smiled. It was like he’d been sucker-punched. She was both irritating and alluring.
Already, she had him rethinking her intentions toward his grandfather. She didn’t look like a gold digger, not because she wasn’t attractive, because she was in a cute sort of way. He’d met many gold diggers in his life. He’d even dated some. His brother married one. None of them washed pots or wore floral sneakers. On the other hand, Oliver was clearly taken by her. Drake’s reaction was unexpected, an indication he shouldn’t underestimate her.
It bothered him some that Lexie and Claire believed he was a thoughtless cad. Somehow, Oliver had pulled the wool over their eyes. They saw a helpless, sick man trying to redeem
himself before he died, but Drake knew better. People like Oliver didn’t change, and Drake recognized he was still on shaky ground when it came to asking his grandfather for help. Lexie and Claire didn’t know or understand the Carmichael family or the importance of his visit to the future success of the corporation. That was one thing Lexie wouldn’t sidetrack him from. He agreed to ask her permission, but no matter what she said, he was staying and getting Oliver’s help.
Still, he shouldn’t have grabbed her the way he did back in the kitchen. Her eyes showed she wasn’t afraid of him. That flash of heat wasn’t fear. Annoyance, yes. Intrigue, maybe. But not fear. While she might not have been intimidated, she surely thought he was obnoxious. Well, good. The more annoyed she was, the more likely she’d avoid him and not distract him. Shaking his head to get Lexie out of his mind, he focused on business.
His first call was to Oliver’s former administrative assistant, Marla Hines. Although she’d quit, she still knew more about what was going on at Carmichael Corporation than anyone else, and she was the only person Drake trusted.
The phone rang twice before she picked up. “Drake, I wasn’t expecting you to call so soon. How’s Oliver?”
“It’s true about his illness. He’s not coming back to New York.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She sounded genuinely upset. “I was hoping it was one of his ploys.”
“You and me both.” He told her about how Oliver had bought his childhood home to live his last days in peace.
“I wouldn’t have guessed he’d be so sentimental,” Marla said. “Too bad it doesn’t extend to you.”
Drake had given up hope of having a loving family long ago. He didn’t grow up in one, and it was unlikely he’d ever have one of his own. What he had was the business, and he wasn’t about to lose it to his brother.
“I got a call from Bill Carter today. There’s a rumor Derrick’s going to close forty-five stores,” Marla said.
“What! He can’t do that.”
