Having Her Boss's Baby

by Maureen Child

  Tomorrow. She was worried enough that she didn’t mind putting off whatever was coming. Yet at the same time, she knew she wouldn’t sleep a wink for thinking of it.

  Her gaze tracked him. He was tall and broad shouldered, and in his white dress shirt his chest looked as wide as the sky. Her mouth went dry as she stood to face him. His eyes were fixed on her, and there was power in those blue depths. The kind of power only rich men knew. It was a mix of wealth and confidence and the surety of his own convictions. And that kind of man would not be easy to stand against.

  “You must be hungry,” he said.

  “I am, a bit,” she admitted, though if he continued to stare at her in just that way, she’d be lucky to swallow a single bite.

  “Then, we’ll go to an early dinner and talk.” He walked to a closet, opened it and pulled out a black jacket. Shrugging it on, he went back to her side and waited.

  “Talk?” she asked. “About what?”

  He took her arm, threaded it through his and headed for the door. “You can tell me all about yourself and the castle.”

  She’d no interest in talking about herself, but maybe, she thought, she could impress on him what the castle meant to those who worked there and the people in the nearby village, as well.

  “All right,” she said, then hesitated, remembering she hadn’t even changed clothes since her flight. “But I’m not dressed for it, really.”

  “You look great,” he assured her.

  How like a man was all she could think.

  “If we could stop by my hotel first,” she said, dismissing his words, “I’d like to change.”

  He shrugged and said, “Sure.”

  * * *

  She was worth the wait, Brady thought, looking across the linen-draped tablecloth at Aine. She wore a simple black dress with wide shoulder straps and a square neckline that displayed just the hint of the tops of her breasts. Her skin glowed like fine porcelain in the candlelight, and the candle flames seemed to shoot golden sparks through her dark red hair and wink off the tiny gold stars she wore at her ears.

  His insides burned, and watching her smile and sip at her wine was only stoking the flames. She was...temptation, Brady told himself. One he didn’t want to resist but would have to.

  “It’s lovely wine,” she said, setting her glass down.

  “Yeah. Lovely.” He didn’t mean the wine and, judging by the flash in her eyes, she knew it. Damn. This upscale restaurant with the candlelight had probably been a mistake. He should have taken her for a nice casual burger in a crowded diner. This setting was too damn intimate.

  The only way to keep the want clawing at him in check was to steer this conversation to business and keep it there. A shame that his brain didn’t exactly have dibs on his blood supply at the moment. “Tell me about the castle. From your perspective, what needs to be done?”

  She took a breath, then another sip of wine, and set the glass down again before speaking. “It’s true, there does need to be some remodeling. Bathrooms updated, new paint throughout, of course, and the furniture’s a bit shabby. But the building itself is strong and sure as it has been since it was first built in 1430.”

  Almost six hundred years. For a man with no family, no personal history to talk about, that kind of longevity seemed impossible to understand and accept. But as a man with no roots, changes came easier to him than they would to people like her. People who clung to traditions and tales of the past.

  “We’re going to do all of that, of course,” he said. “And more.”

  “That’s what worries me,” she admitted. “The more. I know you’ve said we’d talk about this tomorrow, but can you tell me some small things that you have in mind?”

  Hard to concentrate on the conversation when listening to her speak made that twist of desire inside him curl tighter. But maybe talking about the castle would help give him something else to focus on. Deliberately, he took a gulp of his wine to give himself time to settle. When he could think clearly again, he said, “Our company, Celtic Knot, is going into the hotel business.”

  She nodded and waited for him to continue.

  “Starting with Castle Butler, we’re buying three hotels and reimagining them.”

  “Reimagine sounds much grander than a few simple changes,” she said, suspicion clear in her tone.

  “It is,” he said. “We’re going to turn them into mock-ups of our three bestselling games.”

  “Games.”

  Warming to his theme, Brady said, “The first will be Fate Castle.”

  “Fate...?”

  “Designed after our first successful game.”

  “I know of it,” she said quietly.

  His eyebrows shot up, and he couldn’t quite keep the surprise out of his voice when he asked, “You’ve played it? And here I was thinking you didn’t look the gaming type to me.”

  “There’s a type, is there?” She ran her fingers up and down the stem of her wineglass, but the movement was anything but smooth and relaxed. “As it happens, you’d be right. I don’t play, but my younger brother, Robbie, does. He’s mad for your games.”

  Brady smiled in spite of the coolness in her eyes. “He has excellent taste.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she said with detachment, “for the idea of using a toy to chase down zombies and wraiths doesn’t appeal to me.”

  “You shouldn’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

  “What makes you think I haven’t?”

  “You’d like it more if you had,” he said simply. He knew their games were addictive to players. “Our games are more than just running and shooting. There are intricate puzzles to be solved. Choices made, and the player takes the consequences for those choices. Our games are more sophisticated in that we expect our players to think.”

  She smiled briefly. “To listen to Robbie shouting and railing against the game, you wouldn’t know it was a test of intelligence.”

  He smiled again as her voice twisted the knots in his belly even tighter. “Well, even smart guys get angry when they don’t succeed at first try.”

  “True enough,” she said, then paused as the waiter delivered their meals.

  La Bella Vita was Brady’s favorite restaurant. Elegant, quiet, and the food was as amazing as the atmosphere. The walls were a pale yellow, with paintings of Italy dotting the space. Candles flickered atop every one of the linen-draped tables, and soft music sighed through the speakers tucked into the corners of the room. The clink of crystal and the rise and fall of muted conversations around them filled the silence while Aine took a bite of her crab-stuffed ravioli in Alfredo sauce.

  “Good?” he asked.

  “Wonderful,” she said, then asked, “Do you often bring your employees to such a fine restaurant?”

  “No,” he admitted and couldn’t have said, even to himself, why he’d brought Aine here. They could have stopped for a burger somewhere or eaten at the restaurant in her hotel. Instead, he’d brought her here, as if they were on a date. Which they really weren’t. Best to steer this back to work. “It’s quiet here, though, and I thought that would give us a chance to talk.”

  “About the castle.”

  “Yes, and about your part in helping us make this happen.”

  “My part?” Genuine surprise flashed in her eyes.

  Brady took a bite of his own ravioli, then said, “You’ll be there on-site, for the day-to-day changes. We need you to oversee the workers, make sure they stay on schedule, on budget, things like that.”

  “I’m to be in charge?”

  “You’re my liaison,” he told her. “You come to me with problems, I take care of them, then you make sure they’re handled right.”

  “I see.” She dragged her fork listlessly across her plate.

  “Is there a p
roblem?”

  “Have you given thought to who will be doing the work?”

  “We’ve got the best contractor in California lined up,” Brady said. “He’ll be bringing in crews he trusts.”

  She frowned a bit. “Things might go easier and more quickly if you hired Irish workmen.”

  “I don’t like working with people I don’t know,” he said.

  “Yet here we are, and you don’t know me from the man in the moon.”

  “True.” He nodded. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

  “Good. But you’ve yet to tell me what kind of changes you’re talking about.” She met his gaze. “You said only that you were going to ‘reimagine’ things. Which could mean anything at all. What exactly are you planning?”

  “Nothing structural,” he told her. “We like the look of Castle Butler—that’s why we bought it. But there will be plenty of changes made to the interior.”

  She sighed, set her fork down and admitted, “To be honest, that’s what I’m worried about.”

  “In what way?”

  “Will I be seeing zombies in the hallways?” she asked. “Cobwebs strung across the stone?”

  She looked so worried about that possibility, Brady grinned. “Tempting, but no. We’ll go into all the details starting tomorrow, but I’ll say tonight I think you’ll like what we’ve got in mind.”

  Folding her hands on the table, she looked at him and said, “I’ve worked at Castle Butler since I was sixteen and went into the kitchens. I worked my way up from there, becoming first a maid, then moving on through reception and finally into managing the castle.

  “I know every board that creaks, every draft that blows through broken mortar. I know every wall that needs painting and every tree in the garden that needs trimming.” She paused, took a breath and continued before he could speak, “Everyone who works in the castle is a friend to me, or family. The village depends on the hotel for its livelihood and their worries are mine, as well. So,” she said softly, “when you speak of reimagining the castle, know that for me, it’s not about games.”

  Brady could see that. Her forest green eyes met his, and he read the stubborn strength in them that foretold all kinds of interesting battles ahead.

  Damned if he wasn’t looking forward to them.

  Three

  By the following day, Aine was sure she’d stepped in it with Brady at dinner. She’d had such plans to mind her temper and her words and hadn’t she thrown all those plans to the wind the moment he mentioned “substantial changes”?

  She sipped room-service tea and watched the play of sunlight on the water from her balcony. The tea was a misery, and why was it, she wondered, that Americans couldn’t brew a decent cup of tea? But the view was breathtaking—the water sapphire blue, crested with whitecaps, and in the distance, a boat with a bright red sail skimmed that frothy surface.

  She only wished the vista was enough to clear her mind of the mistakes made the night before. But as her father used to say, she’d already walked that path—it was useless to regret the footprints left behind.

  So she would do better today. She’d meet Brady Finn’s partners and be the very essence of professionalism...

  Not two hours later, she felt her personal vow to maintain a quiet, dignified presence shatter like glass.

  “You can’t mean it.”

  Aine had remained silent during most of this meeting with all three partners of Celtic Knot Games. She’d listened as they’d tossed ideas back and forth, almost as if they’d forgotten her presence entirely. She’d bitten her tongue so many times, that particular organ felt swollen in her mouth. And yet, there came a time when a woman could be silent no longer and Aine had just reached it. Looking from one man to the other, she focused on Sean Ryan since he seemed to be the most reasonable.

  “You’re talking about turning a dignified piece of Irish history into a mockery of itself,” she said bluntly.

  Before Sean could speak, his brother said, “I understand you feel a little protective of the castle, but—”

  “Protective, yes, but it’s more than that,” she argued, shifting her gaze from one to the other of the three men, ending finally by meeting Brady’s gaze. “There’s tradition. There’s the centuries etched into every stone.”

  “It’s a building,” Brady said. “One that you yourself have already agreed needs remodeling.”

  “To that, yes, I do agree,” she said quickly, leaning toward him a bit to emphasize what she wanted to say. “And I’m pleased to hear you’re going to make some long-needed repairs to the castle. I’ve some ideas for changes that would enhance our guests’ experiences even while keeping the building’s, for lack of a better word, soul intact.”

  Amused, Brady asked, “You believe the castle has a soul?”

  She looked almost affronted. “It’s been standing since 1430,” she reminded him, so focused on Brady alone that the other men in the room might not have been there at all. “People have come and gone, but the castle remains. It’s stood against invaders, neglect and indifference. It’s housed kings and peasants and everything in between. Why wouldn’t it have a soul?”

  “That’s very...Irish of you to think so.”

  She didn’t care for the patronizing smile he offered her. “As you’re Irish yourself, you should agree.”

  Brady’s features froze over. It was as if she’d doused him with a bucket of ice water. Aine didn’t know what it was about her simple statement that had turned him to stone, but clearly, she’d hit a very sore spot.

  “Only my name is Irish,” he said shortly.

  “An intriguing statement,” she answered, never moving her gaze from his.

  “I’m not trying to intrigue you,” he pointed out. “I’m saying that if you’re looking for a kindred spirit in this, it’s not me.”

  “Okay,” Sean said, voice overly cheerful. “So we’re all Irish here—some of us more than others. Let’s move on, huh?”

  Aine stiffened, didn’t so much as acknowledge Sean’s attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m not looking for a friend or a confidante or a kindred spirit, as you say,” she said and every word was measured, careful, as she deliberately tried to hold on to a temper that was nearly choking her. “I’ve come thousands of miles at your direction to discuss the future of Castle Butler. I can give you information on the building, the village it supports and the country it resides in. All of which you might have found out for yourself had you bothered to once visit the property in person.”

  Silence hummed uncomfortably in the room for a few long seconds before Brady spoke up. “While I admire your guts in speaking your mind, I also wonder if you think the wisest course of action is to piss off your new boss.”

  “All right, then,” she forced herself to say at last. “I’ll apologize for my outburst, as it wasn’t my intention to insult you.”

  “No need to apologize.”

  “I’ll decide for myself when I’m wrong, thanks,” she said, shaking her head firmly. “I promised myself I’d keep my temper in check, and I didn’t. So for that I’m sorry.”

  “Fine.”

  She swept her gaze across all three men, who were now watching her as if she was an unstable bomb. “But I won’t apologize for telling you what I think about the castle and its future.”

  Once again, she met the eyes of all three men before focusing on Brady alone. “I’ve been nervous about this meeting. It’s important to me that the people who work at the castle—including me—keep our jobs. I want the castle to shine again, as it should.”

  Brady’s gaze held hers, and she felt the Ryan brothers watching her, as well. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut. Perhaps she didn’t have the right to say anything at all about their plans for the place she loved. But she couldn’t sit idly by and pretend all wa
s well when it certainly wasn’t.

  Still meeting Brady’s gaze, she asked, “Did you bring me all this way to simply agree with your decisions? Is that what you expect from your hotel manager? To stand quietly at your side and do everything you say?”

  Brady tipped his head to one side and studied her. “You’re asking if I want a yes man?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Of course I don’t,” he said sharply. “I want your opinions, as I told you last night.”

  Aine blew out a breath. “Now that you’ve opened the door, I can only hope you won’t regret it.”

  “I admire honesty,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I’ll agree with you—but I want to know what you really think about what we’re planning.”

  Nodding, she sat more easily in her chair and glanced at the Ryan brothers. “I’ll say it’s hard to form an opinion with nothing more to go on than these descriptions of your ideas you’ve been giving me.”

  “I think we can take care of that,” Mike said. “We’ve got a few drawings that could give you a better picture of what we have in mind.”

  Brady nodded. “Jenny Marshall’s drafted some basic art that should help.”

  “Jenny Marshall again?” Mike looked at his brother. “What, is she our go-to artist now?”

  Aine leaned back in her chair and shook her head. Watching the brothers argue, and Brady following along, was a real lesson. The three men were clearly a unit and yet Aine had the sense that Brady was still holding back, even from his friends. As if he was deliberately standing outside, looking in from a safe distance.

  Even while the Ryans’ heated discussion amped up, she continued to watch Brady and his reaction to his friends. He seemed completely at ease with their argument, and since the brothers were Irish, she was willing to bet their differences of opinion happened frequently. The mystery for her was why he separated himself from the disagreement. Did he simply not care one way or the other about the artist’s work or was it an inborn remoteness that drove him?

  “Jenny’s good, I keep telling you.” Sean shrugged. “You haven’t even looked at the mock-ups she’s done of the stuff Peter was supposed to have finished five months ago.”