The Playboy's Office Romance

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  “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 pleasur
e 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.