The Billionaire and His Boss

by Patricia Kay

  “When do you expect her back?”

  “No, you misunderstood. Miss Paige doesn’t live here.”

  “I know,” Alex said, “but I understood that she was staying there for the holidays.”

  “No, sir, I’m sorry, she’s not.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a number where I could reach her?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Hunt. I cannot give out that kind of information. If you want to leave a message, I’ll be happy to give it to her if she should call here.”

  Alex heaved a frustrated sigh after thanking the housekeeper or whoever it was who had answered the phone and disconnected the call. He wondered if P.J.’s e-mail address was still the same. He was sure her work e-mail was unchanged, but he didn’t want to send her a message that way. No telling who might read her e-mail while she was gone. And e-mail was totally unsatisfactory, anyway.

  He was back to square one.

  With no idea how to advance.

  P.J. loved Italy. It suited her perfectly. The weather, the people, the food, the wine, the attitude. She especially loved that nothing there reminded her of Alex. It had been worth borrowing against her 401(k) plan to come.

  She spent a week in Venice, then moved on to Florence, then to the hills of Tuscany. In Tuscany, she rented a small villa. Even now, in December, the sun shone, the flowers bloomed and the sky was filled with a golden light she’d never seen anywhere else. It was glorious. If she’d been a painter, she’d have tried to capture the beauty of the place. If she’d been a musician, she’d have composed something glorious there, she was sure of it.

  She was neither; all she could do was be thankful for the chance to experience the country’s wonder.

  She healed in Italy. Yes, she still felt melancholy at times, but the constant pain subsided and she grew—if not happy—then content.

  But Italy wasn’t reality.

  And sooner or later, everyone had to face reality. So on her birthday—three days before Christmas—she packed up her things, locked the villa, drove her rental car back to Florence, and flew home.

  It took Alex some time, but with persistent digging, he obtained the home phone number of P.J.’s sister Courtney.

  “Hello, Alex,” she said after he’d introduced himself. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  He quickly explained what he wanted.

  “Where do you live?” she asked.

  Taken aback, he said, “I have an apartment in downtown Seattle. Why?”

  “Would you like to meet me for lunch tomorrow? I think it’s better if we talk in person.” She named a small restaurant that was fairly close to his office.

  The next day, Alex arrived at the restaurant at twelve-forty-five. He’d made the reservation for one o’clock and had wanted to be early. Courtney was shown to the table a few minutes after one. Although her coloring was very different from P.J.’s, he could see the family resemblance, especially in the shape of her eyes and her smile.

  She was very attractive and very pregnant, which—in his eyes—only added to her appeal.

  After she was seated and they’d placed their orders, she said, “Paige would kill me if she knew I was here.”

  He nodded. Knowing P.J., he was sure Courtney was right. “Why are you here?”

  “Because I know Paige loves you, and I want her to be happy.”

  “And I love her. But it doesn’t seem to be doing me any good. Where is she, anyway?”

  “Actually, she should be home today. Not in Jansen, though. She’s going to spend the holidays with our parents.”

  “Where was she?”

  “She went to Italy.”

  “What can I do to convince her to marry me?”

  Courtney eyed him thoughtfully. “Tell me something, Alex. Does your wanting to marry her have anything to do with that crazy scheme of your father’s?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Still she studied him, as if trying to make up her mind about him. “I want to tell you something, but I’ll be betraying a confidence. Very few people know about this, and that’s how Paige wanted to keep it.”

  Alarm bells went off in Alex’s mind. Was P.J. sick? Did she have some kind of terrible disease? Is that what was behind her refusal to marry him? He was almost afraid to hear what Courtney had to say.

  Just then their waiter came with their food, and they stopped talking until he was gone again.

  “Please tell me,” Alex said. He ignored his lunch.

  Courtney sighed heavily. “Six years ago, Paige had to have one of her ovaries removed. She’d been having a lot of pain, and tests revealed that her right ovary was badly infected. They couldn’t save it. The following year she developed endometriosis. Do you know anything about that?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I’m not going to try to explain it. If you want to know more about it, you can research it on the Internet. However, most women who get it have problems getting pregnant. Because Paige only has one ovary and because the endometriosis affected it, there’s very little chance she can ever get pregnant. That’s why she’s been saying no to you, Alex. She knows she can never give you children.”

  Alex was stunned. At first, the knowledge dismayed him, but it wasn’t long before he realized it made no difference to him. He still loved P.J. and he still wanted to marry her. Hell, they could adopt kids. Half a dozen of them, if she wanted.

  Courtney smiled. “You don’t care,” she said softly.

  Alex smiled back. “No, I don’t.”

  She picked up her fork to begin eating her salad. “Now I know why P.J. loves you. Of course, the fact that you’re gorgeous doesn’t hurt.”

  Alex laughed, the first real laugh he’d had in weeks. Then he, too, began to eat his lunch.

  P.J. would be glad when the day was over. She’d always loved Christmas, but this Christmas had been hard for her. Her composure had threatened to crack several times, especially during the family’s traditional carol-singing around the piano, and the effort to keep a smile on her face had exhausted her.

  If only…

  But all the if onlys in the world wouldn’t change a thing. Alex was no longer part of her life. The sooner she was able to accept that gracefully, the better off she’d be.

  “So do you have any plans for tomorrow?” Courtney said, coming over to where P.J. stood.

  P.J. shrugged. “I thought I might hit the sales.”

  “You? Shopping? Has hell frozen over?”

  P.J. couldn’t help laughing. “I need some new workout clothes and I know the shopping is better here than it is in Jansen.”

  “How about if I come with you?”

  “You don’t really want to do that, do you?”

  “Sure. It’ll be fun. We can have lunch out, then shop till we drop. Well, until I drop, anyway.”

  “Well…” P.J. didn’t really want to make a day of it. Yet what else did she have to do?

  “I’ll come by about eleven-thirty,” Courtney said. “Brad’s on vacation. He can stay home with the kids.” She grinned. “Do him good.”

  Later, as P.J. prepared for bed, she thought about how much she loved Courtney. And all her family. Her mother got under her skin sometimes, but she still loved her. Thinking about all the things she’d never have—a husband, children, grandchildren—she could feel herself getting weepy again. This made her mad. Stop that. Moping around and feeling sorry for yourself does no one any good, especially not you. Suck it up. Act like an adult.

  But it was so hard.

  Much harder than she would ever have believed.

  P.J. decided to wear something dressier than her standard pants and casual blouse. So she unearthed a soft forest-green wool skirt and paired it with an ivory cashmere sweater and high-heeled boots. Now she wouldn’t embarrass Courtney, who, even six months pregnant, always looked stylish.

  P.J.’s parents had left the house about nine to attend a brunch and bridge
party given by some friends, so P.J. and the housekeeper were the only ones home. P.J. went downstairs to wait for Courtney and settled herself in the living room where she could look at the tree—a giant Douglas fir trimmed in gold and white.

  If I ever have a tree, it’ll be traditional, with all colors of balls and tinsel and multicolored lights. A real family-type tree.

  Oh, God, she was pathetic. She couldn’t seem to make her mind go in a different direction. Every single thought she’d had since coming home from Italy had somehow been tied to husbands, kids, families.

  I wish I could have stayed there forever.

  Restless, she got up and stood at the big bay window. It was a pretty day outside—cold but sunny. She was glad now that Courtney had suggested their day together. As she watched, a silver SUV turned into the drive and slowly came up the hill toward the house.

  P.J. frowned. Who was coming? She didn’t recognize the truck.

  A moment later, the SUV entered the circle in front of the house and came to a stop. And a moment after that, the driver’s-side door opened and…oh, my God…it was Alex! Sudden panic filled her. And yet, as he got out of the SUV and walked to the door, she stood frozen at the window. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Dressed in dark gray slacks and a matching sweater worn under a black suede jacket, he looked sophisticated and handsome and…wonderful.

  Heart pounding, P.J. finally moved, went into the front hallway and, taking a deep breath, opened the door. Please, God, let me be strong. For long seconds, they simply looked at each other.

  Then Alex smiled. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  P.J. licked her lips. She was fiercely glad she had taken pains with her appearance today. “What are you doing here, Alex?”

  “I came because I have something to tell you, and afterwards—after we talk—I’m hoping you’ll let me take you to lunch.”

  “I already have a lunch date.”

  “Courtney’s not coming,” he said softly.

  P.J. tried not to let the shock she felt show on her face. “You’ve talked to Courtney?”

  “Are you going to make me stand out here all day?” he countered.

  Mind whirling with the implications of what he’d revealed, P.J. stepped back and gestured him in. “Let’s go into the living room.” She led the way, all the while telling herself not to lose her cool. But when I get my hands on Courtney, I’ll kill her.

  She deliberately chose one of the Queen Anne chairs on either side of the fireplace. Alex, though, didn’t sit. Instead, absolutely shocking her, he dropped down on one knee in front of her.

  “P.J.,” he said, “I’m not going to waste time. We’ve already wasted enough time. I love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone, and I want you to be my wife. Courtney told me about your fertility problem and it doesn’t make one iota of difference to me. I still want to marry you, and if we decide we want children, we’ll adopt them. Now I’m not moving and I’m not leaving until you say yes.”

  And then he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a velvet box.

  She looked into his eyes and saw the truth of what he’d said. And suddenly, the way she had too many times to count over the past week, she burst into tears.

  Without a word, Alex stood and, taking P.J.’s hand, helped her to her feet. Then, setting the Tiffany’s box on the table beside her, he put his arms around her and kissed her. And as P.J. responded, twining her arms around him and giving herself up to the kiss, she knew this was where she belonged, right here, with Alex, who really did love her after all.

  Eventually P.J. repaired her makeup and Alex took her to lunch. He couldn’t stop smiling, and it seemed, neither could she. In fact, they spent a lot of time just looking at each other and smiling like fools.

  But after lunch, Alex knew it was time to get serious. “How would you feel about eloping?” he said.

  “Eloping?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Today.”

  “Today?”

  He grinned. “Are you going to repeat everything I say?”

  She laughed sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

  God, she was adorable. He loved everything about her. Her wild red hair. Those incredible blue eyes. Her pale redhead skin with the smattering of freckles on her breastbone. Her strong body. Her stronger mind and convictions. Her honesty and courage. She was perfect.

  “Here’s what I thought we could do. Fly to Vegas, get married tonight or tomorrow, depending on when we get the license, spend two nights there—the Bellagio is beautiful and I’ve already booked a suite—”

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “You’ve already booked a suite? Pretty damned confident, aren’t you?” She was trying to sound indignant, but her eyes and the laughter in them gave her away.

  “I told you, I wasn’t taking no for an answer. Not this time.” He reached for her left hand. The ring looked beautiful there, just as though it had been made especially for her. “Anyway, there’s no waiting period in Nevada.” He smiled into her eyes. “So what do you say?”

  “I do,” P.J. said.

  “I do,” Alex said.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the Justice of the Peace said. He smiled at Alex. “You may kiss your bride.”

  P.J., thrilled beyond measure, kissed Alex with all her heart. The kiss lasted so long, the J.P. cleared his throat and said, “Ahem.”

  Laughing, Alex broke the kiss. Then, arms around each other, they thanked the J.P. and his wife, who had been their witness, and said goodbye.

  Ten minutes later, tucked into the back of a limousine, they held hands and kissed over and over again and marveled over the fact they really were Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Hunt.

  Forever.

  P.J. sighed.

  She was the luckiest woman in the world.

  Epilogue

  New Year’s Eve Day…

  “N ervous?” Alex asked.

  “A little,” P.J. admitted. “What do you think he’ll say?”

  “Don’t know. Really don’t care.”

  But P.J. knew Alex did care what his father thought. They were on their way to break the news that they were married. Alex wouldn’t admit it for the world, because he would never want her to think he regretted marrying her, but she knew he hoped his father would back down on their agreement and accept her as Alex’s wife without penalizing either him or his brothers.

  They didn’t have long to wait. They were almost to the Shack, as Alex wryly referred to his father’s mansion overlooking Lake Washington.

  P.J. had seen photos of the place, but even that didn’t prepare her for the reality of its size. It was mammoth. “Holy cow,” she said. “Your father really lives here?”

  “Afraid so. It’s disgustingly vulgar, isn’t it?”

  “Actually, it’s beautiful, but who needs a place this big?”

  “My sentiments exactly,” Alex said. He pulled into the front turnaround and parked there.

  P.J. knew his father was expecting Alex. He wasn’t expecting her, because Alex had only said he was bringing someone with him and not who that someone was. Would Harrison Hunt have guessed it might be a woman? P.J. had no idea. She had butterflies in her stomach as they climbed the shallow stone steps leading to the enormous carved walnut double entrance doors.

  A young maid dressed in black and wearing a white apron opened the doors at Alex’s ring. She smiled tentatively. She looked as scared as P.J. felt and like P.J., was pretending she wasn’t. P.J. gave her a sympathetic smile. She imagined it might not be easy to work for Alex’s father.

  “Mr. Hunt is expecting you,” the maid said.

  “Thank you,” Alex said.

  They were shown into a very formal living room. To P.J., the brocades and velvets and heavy dark furniture, the ornate paintings and many sculptures seemed cold. She almost shivered. She knew Alex was feeling the same way. Slipping her hand into his, she gave it a squeeze. When he looked down at h
er and smiled, she whispered, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  They sat close together on one of the dark-blue brocade sofas. Alex kept a tight hold on her hand.

  A moment later, footsteps sounded in the hall way, and seconds later, a very tall man entered the room. P.J. would have recognized Harrison Hunt anywhere. First of all, she’d seen numerous pictures of him. Secondly, she’d always thought he bore an uncanny resemblance to the actor Jeff Goldblum. Older, of course, but strikingly similar.

  Alex, still holding her hand, rose at his father’s entrance.

  “Well, well,” Harrison Hunt said. “What have we here?” He directed his laser-like gaze to P.J.

  P.J. held herself tall, with her chin up.

  “Dad,” Alex said, “This is P.J.” He waited a beat. “My wife.”

  If Harrison Hunt was surprised, he hid it well. “Is that so?”

  Extricating her hand from Alex’s, P.J. stepped forward. “Hello, Mr. Hunt.” She held out her right hand.

  He took it, giving it a strong shake. P.J. returned it in kind. He examined her face carefully. “And how long have you been married to my son?”

  She smiled proudly. “Three days.”

  “P.J.’s the daughter of Peter Prescott Kincaid,” Alex said. “I met her at our distribution center. She manages the floor.”

  Finally Alex had managed to elicit a reaction from his father, for Harrison Hunt was visibly taken aback. “You’re Peter’s daughter?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And you work for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to succeed on my own merits, and because I don’t like the corporate world.”

  A huge smile broke over the older man’s face. “I’ve known your father for many years. He’s a good man.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Clapping Alex on the back, Harrison said, “This calls for champagne. Has Cornelia met your bride yet?”

  “We’re going over there when we leave here,” Alex said, “but first, we have something else to tell you. You may not like this, but whether you do or not makes no difference to me…to us.”