by Nicole Snow
Paige is glued to her seat, fingers flying across her keyboard, pretty green eyes focused on the screen. I stop at her desk and lean in. “Order breakfast for the office. Everyone. Hurry.”
“What do you want me to order?”
“Whatever you think people like. Spare no expense,” I tell her.
She nods again and moves her mouse. Her icy silence is harder to take, but I can’t dwell on that shit just now.
An hour and a half later, I come out to check on breakfast. She’s ordered a nice spread of pastries and bagels with all the fixings from Sweeter Grind, a popular Chicago café. Their creations are too sweet for me, but apparently the flavors of Heart’s Edge, Montana, are a pleaser with the staff.
It looks a little less like we’re overseeing a funeral parlor, at least.
Paige clutches a Sweeter Grind cup at her desk.
“Thank you for ordering breakfast,” I say.
She nods.
Goddammit, woman. Talk to me.
It’s not my fault, and I don’t like this any better than anyone else. I think I hate it more than everyone else in this office.
It puts a hell of a lot more pressure on me than them.
“What are you drinking?” I ask, clearing my throat.
“Just something my friend used to order for me before she got married and abandoned me to the single life.” She takes a long slurp, brutalizing me with those lips I can still taste.
I force back a chuckle, and something more feral at the thought of her being single.
“What is it?” I ask, pinning my eyes to her cup.
She offers it to me. “You can try it, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”
“What is it?” I ask again.
“Cinnamon latte, my best friend’s favorite drink.” She stops, and I can hear memories cascading in her laughter. “Anytime I had a bad day, Brina used to bring home two. Oh, and a whole box of Heart’s Edge truffles.”
“Are you having a bad day?”
What do I care? We’re all having a bad day under this constant stress pressure cooker.
This girl is not my business.
I’d do well to remember it and hit the Everest pile of crap I have to figure out now.
Paige meets my eyes, glances across the empty hallway, frowns, and her eyes fall to mine again.
“I’ve had worse days since I started here,” she says.
Another pointed jab at me that’s about as subtle as hot coffee to the face.
Damn her. Rather than get into another fencing match, I turn my back and stomp away.
It’s lunch before I hear from her again.
She doesn’t knock, just sails through my office door and folds into the chair in front of my desk. When she sits, the black-and-silver dress she wears dips a little, exposing more cleavage than my eyes need.
I can feel my sanity slipping, and I swallow what feels like a piece of raw cactus lodged in my throat.
“I took this job to work with her, Ward,” she starts.
Fuck.
I stiffen in my seat.
“You’re not quitting on me, are you?”
She shakes her head. “I won’t do that. I’m not going to let her down. But is she okay? Why isn’t she coming back?”
I push my laptop away and tent my fingers, wondering where the hell to begin. I don’t even fully understand it myself.
“Grandma constantly joked about retiring a few years ago. Nobody took her seriously. This place has been her life, her muse, her home. She called us over for tea yesterday afternoon and—”
Paige laughs.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile today.
“Beatrice Nightingale Brandt takes afternoon tea? That’s so cool. And I’m glad it means she must be doing okay.”
I smile.
“It’s not just for fun. She uses teatime for big decisions or family meetings. It’s been that way since I grew up. Anyway, when Nick and I showed up, she didn’t mince words. She told us she was done.” I pause, shaking my head in disbelief. “We didn’t believe her at first, but the blow to her health meant the time for jokes was over. She’s decided it’s time to pass the torch, this time for real. She wants us to take over, full time. She’ll help as needed from a distance since this is her dream project, and my grandfather’s legacy, but she needs her rest. No stress whatsoever, or else her ticker...”
I can’t finish. The thought of Grandma keeling over is still too visceral.
“It’s okay. You could’ve given me a heads up while you were in here downing scotch instead of waiting for me to read it in some email I had to revise,” she says with more softness than I deserve.
The summer sunlight spills in through the clouds and comes through my sprawling windows just then.
The angel’s back, and for a second, I feel downright stupid.
I’m the world’s biggest heel for mauling this saint with a sailor’s mouth.
“You knew before anyone else in the company, besides Nick,” I say slowly. “I didn’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about it now, but it has to be dealt with.”
“You should have talked her out of it.” She leans forward, damning me as her pert tits pull together.
I’m not sure I’ll leave this office alive.
I manage a wry laugh. “Believe me, we tried. Even the tentative deal wouldn’t change her mind. Nick and I are ready to handle it, she insisted, and if it’s meant to be, it’ll happen. She’s always been a believer in fate, and still is, despite her new...limitations.”
“Limitations?” The word comes out of Paige’s pink lips as a whisper. “She’s not doing so hot then?”
I haven’t let myself think about what this heart problem really means for Grandma’s future.
“She’ll be fine,” I say firmly, smoothing my face. “She has the very best doctors behind her. She just needs plenty of rest.”
Paige nods and leans forward like she’s about to stand.
“Is that all you wanted to talk about?” I ask.
Somehow, having this kindhearted sprite of a woman in my office feels like a calm in the storm, and I’m not ready to let her go.
I just want a break from the darkness, the pain, the worry.
Just for a little while longer.
“I wish that was it, but...” She shakes her head, gold locks falling everywhere. “It’s like a funeral out there, Ward. We need to do something to boost morale besides order breakfast.”
“I’m not the type for big pep talks. Grandma promised a farewell speech. I hoped the food would perk people up.”
She crosses her arms. “It was a nice gesture. I’m just going to have to donate a lot of leftovers to the homeless shelter.”
She looks crushed. Defeated.
God. Why is this woman who’s only been with the company roughly a month so shattered by this?
I need to get my ass in high gear. I’m not letting my grandparents’ legacy fail, and I’m not letting Paige go under with the ship.
“Fine. We’ll call the staff together and let them know we have to see this deal through for my grandparents. They’ll rise to the occasion. Don’t worry.”
“I’m worrying,” she says, folding her arms tighter around her shoulders like a sudden chill in the air. “You think it will work?”
Slowly, I nod. “It will. Just having the Winthrope contract on lock and publicly announced will skyrocket our reputation. It’ll drive the company’s value up so hard there won’t be time for sulking.”
She bites her lips together, drawing my eyes like magnets.
“You think I’m on the wrong track?” I rumble, stirred by the nervous jitter in her jade eyes.
“Working people to death might not be the best happy pill. Before the big announcement, everyone was complaining. Susan from HR said she had a dozen people on the verge of turning in their notices.”
“Shit.” I suck in a breath. “That might have been helpful to know earlier, Miss Holly.”
“Can we stick to Paige?” she snaps, locking eyes with mine.
Can we be that informal, without blowing ourselves up?
I give a curt nod.
“Sorry, I was just trying to help. I handled it because I didn’t want you or Nick to have more on your plates.”
“Paige, I need you to be straight with me. Always. You’ve got your finger on the pulse of this company in a way I don’t. You know, Wardhole and all.” I pause, relishing how she smiles. “But thank you for the thoughts. Working people into their graves might not build morale, but having an inspiring vision that gets results will. It helps people understand what they’re working for, beyond money and busywork, and success is a great motivator.”
That lethal smile, brighter than the sunshine, grows into a grin that spreads across her face. Her eyes soften like she might just see me as more than the donkey who never wanted her to have a chance.
More than the dolt full of demons who pressed her up against a hospital wall on an appalling day and kissed her until she moaned.
If my train wreck of a life hadn’t grounded me along with my fear for Grandma and bad memories of the woman I wanted to call my wife...who the fuck knows what would’ve happened.
I’m the luckiest human scum on Earth.
She should have quit then, leaving me no chance of getting through this with her.
“See? I knew you could do it. You’re better with pretty words than you give yourself credit for.”
For a second, my breath stalls, and I’m lost in her sparkling forests for eyes.
I’m about to shrug it off when Nick blows through my office door.
“Bro, it’s like a morgue out—” His eyes land on Paige and he stops. His gaze traces from her to me. “You two have been getting along much better since the hospital.”
He casts his eyes down her body.
Idiot.
Jealousy coursing, I want to punch him, but then I realize he’s staring at her feet. She’s wearing the same gaudy slippers I put over her feet the first time at the hospital after removing those damn heels myself. He looks at me again, but it’s a silent accusation.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Did you need something?”
“I was going to say it’s a bad vibe out there. We have to do something.”
“That’s the plan.” Paige stands, flicking at her hair, her eyes pure mischief again. “Ward said he’ll take care of it and he won’t let us down.”
“He did?” Nick looks at me.
There’s something in her tone. Even if it puts me on the spot—annoying as ever—it’s so cute I want to laugh again. The statement is almost a defense to Nick’s silent accusation.
“Captain Obvious, I’m aware morale’s suffering. Some of our people started with Grandma when she opened this company.” I look at Paige. “Miss Holly—Paige—was just leaving.”
She blushes when I correct her name, and moves toward the door fast, no doubt hoping I don’t notice.
But fuck, I do.
“We’ve been here forever, too,” Nick says absentmindedly. “Some of them still see us as kids, and we’re just not as graceful as Grandma.”
Seriously, dealing with a petulant younger brother should not be part of being a CEO.
Paige stops at the door. “Those are some serious Louis Vuittons to fill,” she says.
“We’ve got to call Winthrope first. He needs reassurance,” Nick tells me, the first sensible thing he’s said all day. “On second thought, Paige might as well be here for it, no?”
Damn, he’s right. I’ve been putting off the call, telling myself I needed to wait until Nick could do it with me.
The truth is, I just don’t want to do it at all.
With Nick here, though, I can’t procrastinate any longer.
I look at my brother. “Nonsense. I’ll send her a summary email when it’s over. I’m sure she has work to do.”
Nick grimaces. “Dude. We have to call a weirdo who’s holding our future in his stiff little hands—”
Paige’s laugh cuts in.
“—to tell him the woman he really wanted to work with isn’t coming back, but he should still choose our company,” Nick finishes. “Yeah. I think it would be good to have someone take notes, and Paige worked with Grandma on the designs. She’s our right hand—and maybe the left one too.”
Paige flutters her lashes like he’s just bowed at her feet.
Damnation.
In the last five minutes, my playboy brother has made her laugh, and now he’s telling her what to do with her time. She’s technically his assistant, sure, but I don’t like it.
My gaze falls on her.
“If it won’t impact your workload to be here and take notes rather than reading a summary later, you’re welcome to stay. If you have things you need to do, that’s fine too.”
She shrugs. “I’ll stay. I’m not anxious to get back to the morgue.” She returns to where she sat before Nick came in and leans over my desk for a pad and pen.
Fuck me.
The way her neckline bobs into her cleavage isn’t going to be helpful at all. It’s a colossal distraction that roils my blood.
For a scalding second, I’d like to find another wall to push her against rather than make this call.
Too bad duty calls.
I suck it up, pick up the phone, and start dialing.
“Ross Winthrope here,” a very English voice answers a second later.
“Hi, Mr. Winthrope, this is Ward Brandt. We’re on speaker with Nick Brandt and Paige Holly.”
“Of course. I was going to call you boys today. I just haven’t had the time yet. I’m so dreadfully sorry to hear of Mrs. Brandt’s abrupt retirement and her recent health problems. I hope she’s doing well.”
“Thanks for your wishes. She’s recovering well and soon she’ll have all the time she always wanted to travel,” I say.
“Thank God. Losing Beatrice Nightingale Brandt is truly the end of an era. Godfrey’s passing was bad enough. The way she picked up and kept going after her husband died was amazing. No one wants to see her out to pasture. She’s a wonderful lady. I looked forward to working with her. I truly wish I hadn’t dragged my feet so long without having a Brandt designed property, and now I fear it might be too late.”
My gut bottoms out.
“Mr. Winthrope, there’s no need to lament her retirement or worry you’ve missed out on anything. We still have the same outstanding opportunity to build Chicago’s finest hotel.” I pause, dreading the silence on the other end. “That’s what we wanted to talk to you about today, sir. She’s formally handed over operations to my brother and me. We wanted to assure you that you can still expect Brandt quality, Brandt perfection, and Brandt ideas. We’ll meet our previously discussed timeline. Everything will work just as it would if Beatrice—” It’s weird calling my grandma by her first name, but this guy already thinks we’re kids. I can’t refer to her as Grandma. “—hadn’t retired. I assure you, Mr. Winthrope, Nick and I are already down to brass tacks with the design phase, supply quotes, and schematics—”
“Hold on, son. Before you get too far in, you have to know your grandmother’s departure from Brandt Ideas was rather unexpected. We’re on a tentative contract, I’ll remind you. I think it’s best if we allow a certain grace period for everyone to reassess before going any further. Don’t you?”
No, I fucking don’t.
I hit the mute button on the phone and stare across my desk. Nick wipes sweat from his forehead. Paige’s mouth twists in horror.
Again, I’m surprised she feels our pain.
This isn’t her dream to derail, but her sympathy stabs me in the chest.
If I don’t nail this, I’m not just letting down my family. I’m letting down Paige Holly.
For the first time since Iraq, I hope there’s a hero in me somewhere, and I’ve got to find him fast.
“Of course, Mr. Winthrop
e. I want you to be completely comfortable moving forward,” I say, unmuting. “If you need a few days to think it over, no worries. You won’t find anything better than Brandt Ideas in this industry. No matter what happens, I’ll prove to you the finest Winthrope hotel ever built was always meant to be a Brandt design. I’ll check back in two weeks, and if you have any questions in the meantime, feel free to give me a call.”
“You talk with confidence, I’ll give you that,” he says. “It’s the experience factor I have to wrestle with, but I’ll do my due diligence. Have a nice day, Ward.”
“You too.”
Dial tone.
I turn the speaker off.
“Fuck,” Nick says.
A perfect summary.
“What do we do now?” he asks.
“I need a Coke,” Paige says.
“There’s one in the mini fridge,” I tell her.
She grabs one and pops the top. “Should I pour you guys some scotch?”
“No. This isn’t the time for drinking,” I say.
Nick raises an eyebrow. “She knows about the scotch in your bottom drawer now?”
“I don’t make it a habit,” I say with a shrug. “Yesterday was brutal, and it’s not like you had to be the one to write the memo to the whole company.”
He nods. “Any chance you want to be the one to tell Grandma the deal’s toast?”
Damn, maybe it is time to start day drinking.
“There isn’t anything to tell, Nick. We have a tentative acceptance. No signature before all hell broke loose. He asked for a grace period, and he’ll get it.”
Nick sits up taller, finger-raking his hair. “He didn’t sound sold. You really think he’ll actually commit in a few weeks?”
“Right now? No, but it buys us time to figure something out.”
“I really don’t get his concerns. We’re the same people doing the same work we were when he agreed to it. Grandma’s drafts are done, just minor adjustments left. What does he want?”
“He wants us to be seventy, straitlaced, and English,” I say. “Or at least a world-renowned artist like Grandma.”
“On second thought...” Nick gives me a wolfish grin. “Ward, you are straitlaced. You act ninety. You should just start faking an English accent and coming into the office looking like a candy cane.”
He’s only exaggerating a little. Last year at this charity gala, Winthrope showed up in red-and-white pinstripes.
