Picture This (Bryant Brothers Book 4)

by Tami Lund

  Or should she play it cool and act like it was no big deal to be complemented twice in such quick succession?

  He chuckled and, without warning, lifted her into his arms. “While you try to decide whether to be flattered, I’m going to cut you a break and carry you into the kitchen.”

  She shook her head. “Thank you, because I admit, my knee really is bothering me.”

  He abruptly turned and headed for the stairs instead.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you to your room so you can change into more comfortable clothes, which will involve shorts so that you can put ice on that knee. Like you should have been doing all morning. Tell me, are you always so stubborn?”

  She could feel her lips twitching. “Yes.”

  “This should be an interesting relationship then, because I am not about to let you injure yourself further for the sake of vanity.” He placed her on the bed and then strode over to her dresser, pulling out a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, like he had the day before.

  He offered them to her and said, “Do you need help?”

  She wanted to whimper and say, “Yes, please,” but instead shook her head.

  He left, pulling the door closed behind him, and she twisted and turned and finagled her way out of her work clothes, which she tossed into the corner because, damn it, she had been mightily uncomfortable sitting on her couch in that outfit. And then she pulled on the more casual clothes and sighed. Comfort was not at all overrated.

  “I’m done,” she called out, and he returned to slip his arms under her body again. She laced her fingers around his neck and decided there wasn’t a better way to get around in this world.

  Soon enough, she was perched on a barstool at the counter, her knee propped on a stack of pillows and wrapped in ice, her laptop at her fingertips, while Elliot made lunch, which turned out to be Cobb salad.

  “This is amazing,” she said as she devoured every last morsel on her plate. “I mean, who says that about salad, but seriously. I’ve never eaten as well as I’ve eaten today, and we haven’t even had dinner.”

  “Maybe I should make the steaks tonight then. Wait, do you have a grill?”

  “No.”

  “We need to alleviate that before I can make steaks.”

  She swallowed the last of her salad. “Okay.” What did he mean by alleviate? Was he going to go out and buy a grill? That seemed extreme.

  After lunch, she once again relished the far too short period of time during which he carried her back to the sunroom. The weather was perfect for sitting outside, but she was enjoying perching next to him on the couch too much to point that out.

  Once they were settled, she said, “All right, now that all that boring HR stuff is out of the way, you are going to dive in with both feet.”

  He arched his brows like he was anticipating her challenge.

  She pointed at his computer. “I’ve given you access to my calendar. There is a board meeting scheduled for Thursday. I need you to email everyone on that invite list and explain that we need to reschedule—without telling them why, of course—and then find a new date that’s clear on everyone’s calendar. I’m thinking two weeks should be enough time.”

  “Your knee will probably still be black and blue and it will hurt if you push yourself too much, but, yes, I’m sure you’ll be back in the office in the next two weeks.”

  “Good.” She waved at his laptop. “Let me read the email before you send it, if you don’t mind.”

  “Nope, don’t mind.” He focused on his task, and she returned to her own responsibilities for a few minutes, until he nudged her arm and turned his screen toward her.

  She skootched closer and leaned toward him and got a whiff of her own shampoo. Which, frankly, smelled amazing on his hair.

  And then she read the message he’d typed. It contained a well-worded introduction of himself as her new admin and an apology that wasn’t over the top, along with a closing statement letting the board know he’d be sending a meeting invite for two weeks from now.

  “Very nice,” she said approvingly.

  His brows shot up again. “You weren’t expecting me to be able to write an email?”

  She shook her head. “No, although to tell you the truth, there are a lot of people who already work in the corporate world who can’t word an email appropriately to save their life.”

  He pressed send. She showed him how to see if the various boardrooms at the office were available and how to verify that the attendees’ schedules were open. Finally, she showed him where all the files on the shared drive were, including the one that contained the various caterers’ information, as he had to cancel lunch for Thursday and order it for two weeks from now instead.

  They sat side by side, their feet propped next to each other on the low table. Occasionally, one or the other would ask a work-related question or comment about this project or that assignment, but mostly, they sat in compatible silence as the afternoon flew by.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to say this about office work,” he said as he stood and stretched. Amelia blatantly stared at the way the muscles in his arms bunched and twisted. Luckily, he had his eyes closed. “But this has been fun. Well, fun might not be the appropriate word, but it hasn’t been mundane or boring.”

  She smiled. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

  Her phone vibrated. She glanced at the screen and let out an involuntary gasp.

  “What’s wrong? Is it Duane?”

  She shook her head. “No. Worse. My father.”

  “Do you want me to answer it?”

  She barked out a laugh. “Oh God, no. That would make it a hundred times worse. When he was running the business, he didn’t have an admin, according to him, anyway. My mom would have told you otherwise, since she was the one who functioned in that role, but he believes he singlehandedly managed this company and does not understand how I cannot do it without help.”

  Wow, that was way more information than she’d ever shared with anyone else before, but she didn’t have time to dwell on the whys of her true confession. She had to answer this call. If she didn’t, he might very well get into his car and drive over here, and she doubted Elliot would be able to turn him away at the door like he had Duane.

  “Hello, Walter.” When he’d finally relented and given her the position of COO, he’d insisted she refer to him by name rather than father or dad.

  “Who is Elliot Bryant?” he demanded by way of greeting.

  She wanted to snap, “Do you need a lesson in telephone etiquette?” but it was pointless. The man had been a hard-ass even before her mother died, and he’d only gotten worse over the last sixteen years. Amelia’s mother had truly been a saint to put up with him.

  “He’s my new admin.”

  “You hired a man to be your assistant?”

  The contempt in his voice was very real. His misogynist, patriarchal opinions about roles in the workplace came from a bygone era even before his time, and he clung to them as fiercely as a mama bear protecting her cub.

  Yes, she used that analogy on purpose.

  “I did.” It was best not to bother explaining herself to the man. All it did was frustrate her, and the only time she’d ever swayed his opinion in her entire life was when she convinced him to hire her as the COO. And to be honest, the only way she had was by pointing out that it was temporary, until Duane returned to the States and decided to take over. She hadn’t meant it when she said it—she fully intended to stay in charge—but she’d been desperate enough to prove herself that she’d been willing to use any means necessary.

  “He just changed the date of the board meeting,” her father pointed out, as if Amelia would not be aware of this fact.

  “I know. I told him to.”

  “Why?”

  “I have a conflict on Thursday.”

  She was fully prepared to lie and say a client wanted to meet and their schedule wasn’t flexible, because she knew damn well that was t
he only excuse he would allow for changing something as important as the quarterly meeting with the board.

  “Well, it would have been appropriate for you to be there, but no matter. Tell that guy to change the date back. We’re still meeting on Thursday.”

  “No can do. We’ve already contacted everyone on the board and changed lunch, rooms, everything. I’m not even sure there are any boardrooms available on Thursday anymore.” God, she hated how desperate she sounded whenever she spoke to the man. She also hated how smoothly the lies came out. She’d learned all sorts of self-preservation tricks over the years, and none of them made her feel good about herself.

  “Change it back. Boot out whoever took over the room. Isn’t that the purpose for your assistant?”

  She was acutely aware of Elliot, still standing and intently watching her. Closing her eyes, she massaged her temple. “Why are you so hell-bent on having the meeting this Thursday?”

  “Because I want to announce your brother taking over sooner than later.”

  Her eyes popped open. “What?”

  “He’s back, Amelia. You were only supposed to be in that position until he sowed his wild oats or whatever the hell he’s been doing over in Europe. He’s back now, so it’s time for him to take over. And time for you to step down.”

  The phone slipped from her hand and plopped onto the couch cushion next to her. Her heartrate accelerated. She felt hot and cold at the same time. The throbbing in her knee became more intense.

  She was losing her position. Everything she’d worked so hard for, everything she’d accomplished in the last five years, was about to be handed over to her brother.

  Chapter Eleven

  Amelia had gone so pale, Elliot was afraid she might pass out. He dropped to his knees on the floor next to her leg and placed his hand on her thigh. “Hey. You okay?”

  She shook her head.

  He glanced at the phone lying on the couch, face up. The little button on the screen was red, so Mr. Gerard was still on the line. So Elliot took care of that. Father or not, the man had put her in this state, so he deserved to be hung up on.

  “Talk to me, Amelia. What did he say?” Based on her side of the conversation, he’d gathered that her father wanted the meeting to remain on Thursday. Was she this upset because she didn’t want to face the board with a bruised knee?

  He stared into her face and squeezed her leg, trying to ground her, to bring her back to the moment. He suspected she was having a panic attack. Her fear of letting people see that she was less than perfect was far more real than he’d believed. Which was dumb of him, considering the lengths she went to in order to be presentable when Chelsea showed up with his new computer equipment.

  “Amelia, sweetheart, listen to me. This isn’t the end of the world.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  He shook his head. “Think of it this way: your bum knee is likely to garner sympathy. Is there anything you’ve wanted the board to do that they’ve been dragging their feet on? This is the perfect opportunity to ask. Use this to your advantage.”

  She blinked rapidly. Was she fighting tears? He had to admit, if someone asked, he’d say he wasn’t sure Amelia Gerard was capable of crying.

  Until now.

  “I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

  She shook her head and refused to look at him.

  Okay, desperate measures and all that. He flipped both computers closed and then stood and strode into the kitchen. By Amelia’s standards, it wasn’t quite quitting time, but considering she was currently in a near comatose state, he decided she was done for the day. Whatever was going on at the office would still be there in the morning.

  He filled two lowball glasses with ice, grabbed the bottle of Jameson he’d added to her grocery list, and returned to the sunroom. She hadn’t moved. Placing the glasses on the coffee table, he splashed whiskey into each of them, and pushed one into her hand. Her fingers wrapped around it automatically.

  “Drink,” he commanded, and she did without hesitation, sputtering and gasping afterward. Which was what he wanted because the burn of the whiskey on her throat seemed to pull her out of her funk.

  “It’s not even five,” she said. “We shouldn’t be drinking.” There wasn’t any fire in her voice.

  “I made an executive decision that we’re done for the day.”

  “That’s the second day in a row you’ve made decisions for me.”

  “For your own good,” he corrected. “Now, take another sip. It’s helping bring you back to me.”

  “I’m here.” She handed him the glass and then wrapped her arms around her torso.

  He finished off her drink and placed it on the table before sitting down next to her. “Okay, then tell me what just happened.”

  She breathed in and out of her nose several times, like she was practicing some sort of coping technique. “My father is kicking me out of the company. He plans to announce that Duane is taking over. That’s why he wants to keep the board meeting on Thursday.”

  Oh shit. Elliot poured another shot and handed her the glass. Wordlessly, she took it and downed the contents.

  “Can’t you fight this? The numbers alone speak for your ability to run that company. Far better than he ever did, I might add.”

  A fleeting smile touched her lips, but she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s his company.”

  “I thought the board ran the company.”

  “It does, but he still holds the most shares. I would need practically all of them to agree to reject his plan. I mean, I know most of them respect me, possibly even believe that I run the company better. But…”

  “But what?”

  “I would need to reach out to them one-on-one, convince them that I’m the best option as COO.”

  “Okay, we can do that.”

  She shook her head again. “Even if I did talk to them, they’d have to make a choice between me and my father, and I don’t know that they’d choose me.”

  “You’re right, you don’t know. But there’s the possibility. Only if you try, though.”

  “There’s not enough time.”

  “We’ll make time. What else do we have to do at the moment?”

  She gave him another small smile. “Have you always been such a cheerleader?”

  Had he? He didn’t think so. But something about Amelia made him want to try, to do whatever it took to make her happy.

  But then her smile fell again. “I can’t. Not right now. Maybe tomorrow, but right now, I’m just…”

  “Discombobulated?”

  A breathy laugh escaped her lips. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Okay, I have an idea for stress relief.”

  Her eyebrow arched. Was she thinking…? Because he wasn’t, not initially, but if she preferred…

  “Well? What’s your idea?”

  He jumped to his feet. “Stay here.”

  She gave her knee a pointed look, and he laughed self-consciously.

  “Right. Sorry. Give me a minute. I’ll be right back.” He scooped his phone off the low table and hurried into the kitchen.

  “Hey, Mom,” he said as soon as she answered.

  “Why, hello, son number four. How are you and your friend?”

  He refused to be baited. Instead, he cut right to the chase. “She’s having a rough time, actually. She needs a distraction. I was thinking about bringing her to your house so we could chill in the pool for a little while.” He clenched his jaw. “Except I’d like to…”

  “Would you like your father and I to leave, dear?”

  Yeah, that was exactly what he’d like, except he felt like an ass saying it.

  “We were just talking about the fact that it’s Taco Tuesday and how the little Mexican place down the street makes the best margaritas in town. Why don’t I drag your father over there for a few hours?”

  Doubtful she’d have to drag Dad. They hung out so often at that restaurant the staff knew them
by name. “You’re the best, Mom.”

  “When do I get to meet her?”

  He opened his mouth to tell her it wasn’t like that. He and Amelia really were just friends. Actually, not even. They were co-workers. She was his boss. He was just helping her through a personal crisis that also happened to affect her career.

  Instead, he said, “I’m not sure. Let me get her through this and then we’ll see.”

  “I can live with that. We’ll be cleared out in twenty minutes. Do you want to hang a necktie on the doorknob or something so we know when it’s safe to come back home?”

  He shook his head even though she couldn’t see the gesture. “No, it’s fine. Nothing inappropriate is going to happen. But could you text me when you’re ready to come home?” He figured Amelia would not want to meet anyone new, given her current situation. And God knew he didn’t want to subject her to his mother at the moment. The woman was likely to start suggesting bridesmaid dress colors if they met.

  He disconnected the call and returned to the sunroom. Amelia had finished off both glasses of whiskey and was in the process of pouring herself another. He arched his eyebrows, and she flushed.

  “It’s good. I’ve never had Jamison before.”

  “No judgment here. Also, I’ve cleared the way for your stress relief. We can take the bottle, although I know for a fact there is plenty where we are going.”

  “Which is where? A bar?”

  “Nope. Where’s your swimsuit?”

  “My what?”

  “Swimsuit. Tell me where it is so I can go grab it.”

  “Why do you want to see my swimsuit?”

  “Just humor me, Amelia. I promise, you will appreciate my plan.”

  She pursed her lips for a moment and then said, “Dresser, second drawer on the right. I prefer the coral pink one.”

  He rushed up the stairs, pulled open the drawer, and found several bikinis that most definitely made him happy he’d thought of this particular idea to take her mind off of her father and what he was doing to her career. Not to mention her emotional wellbeing.

  Snagging the pink one, he headed back downstairs.