“I… Um…”
“Diligent CEO. Not a diligent worker or businessman, a diligent CEO. I am not entirely insulated by my position, I’m afraid. I am fully aware of the opinion most American people hold of CEOs. Ruining the economy, robbing people blind, etcetera. So, for me to be described as a diligent CEO means that those negative qualities are in the forefront of your mind—or, at least, in the minds of the people who described me for you.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but shut it again with a guilty glance at the floor.
“Successful…that adjective comes with an addendum. Successful in business, a profit hound, a heartless money-grabber. Competent? I’d wager my fortune that the word you were replacing was a synonym for ruthless.”
“Not exactly a synonym,” she said quietly, still refusing to meet my eyes.
“Then ruthless was the word,” I realized out loud.
She nodded, barely perceptibly. Her eyes shone as if she were about to cry, and her breasts heaved with long, deep breaths. I had blown her cover, called her out on her verbal tiptoeing, and in doing so had frightened her more than she had been frightened that morning. I immediately regretted it, wishing to slide back in time just a few minutes and keep my translations to myself.
To my surprise, however, she blinked her eyes clear and turned her gaze on me. I felt glued to the spot for a fraction of a second as the sea-colored flecks in her stone-brown eyes glowed as they caught the light streaming in from every window.
“You are correct,” she told me apologetically. “I’m…well. You know.”
“Thank you for skipping the apology,” I told her wryly. “I’m not entirely sure what I would do with another ‘I’m sorry’.” I shook my head and began pacing again.
“The people…the consumers and the employees…were used to my father. He presented a Santa Claus personality to the public, and they ate it up. Everybody wanted to buy their kids AllGood toys, not just because the toys were better, but because they felt as though they were buying their toys directly from the man himself. Now that I’ve taken the helm, people feel less secure. Consumers are no longer eager to give this company their money, and employees no longer feel secure in their jobs.”
I was talking more to myself than to her now, attempting to sift through all of the data to come up with a solution.
“Can…can I help?” she asked.
“Do you want to?” I shot back with more force than necessary.
I expected her to wither and fold away into her seat, but she simply pressed her lips together.
“If the company is in trouble, then that means that my job is in trouble. I love my job. Yes, sir, I would like to help if I can.”
The animal within me knew exactly how she could help. There was no faster way to win the hearts and minds of millions than to be seen publicly snuggling a baby; better still if the baby were blessed with curly hair and impossibly stunning eyes. The CEO in me refused to indulge in that fantasy at all, under threat of potential legal action. They arrived at a compromise after the silence had stretched into awkwardness.
“Perhaps you can,” I said thoughtfully. “You see, Miss Marshall, I desperately need to overhaul my image. I need people to see who I am outside of the office to prove that I am a three-dimensional, trustworthy, family-friendly sort of person. I need someone to help me find the parts of my life to emphasize.”
I turned away from her and paced across to the window again, bracing myself to cross a threshold of no return. Finally, I stopped and turned to her.
“Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner tonight? I would like to show you another side of myself.” I saw her eyes flicker over my body at warp speed, an unintentional reveal which stoked my own boldness.
“Dinner? Ah…is that against company policy?” she asked, sounding sincere.
“Miss Marshall,” I said with a smile, appreciating her apparent innocence. “I create the company policy. I would bear you no ill will if you were to decline, but don’t worry yourself about policy. There would be no one to enforce it aside from myself.”
“Oh,” she said, realizing.
“Yes. So, Miss Marshall, would you join me for dinner this evening? I will have my driver pick you up. Say around six o’clock?”
“Um…yes, all right,” she said, seeming conflicted.
Every bone in my body ached to break her soul open and spill her thoughts. It had been so long since I had conversed with someone who was so indirect and so seemingly innocent that I had forgotten the frustration of seeing a thought cross a person’s mind and having no key with which to interpret it. I gazed at her until she squirmed uncomfortably, then I looked away.
“An informal response to an informal invitation,” I said with a grin which I hoped would look easier than it felt. “Perfect alignment.”
“Where will we go?” Miss Marshall asked, touching the hem of her sweater.
“It’s a surprise,” I said with a wink.
“But how will I know what to wear?”
“Clothing will suffice.” For now, I finished internally. “I could find your address in our records, but I would prefer to get it from you. You can write it down here.”
I handed her one of my many miniature legal pads, and she quickly scribbled down her address.
“Thank you. My driver will see you at six.”
Chapter 5
Kaley
I’d been in my fair share of taxi cabs and ride shares before, so sitting in the back seat with a driver up front wasn’t exactly a new experience. The uniformed driver and the car itself, however, turned a mundane ride into something almost magical. I felt like a fairy-tale princess, rescued from my hovel to slip through the city in a chariot covered in buttery-soft leather, brought out beyond the world I knew.
Dense greenery and spacious lawns flew past the window, and every so often I would glimpse a palatial mansion, tucked far back from the road. Beyond them, Lake Michigan glittered in the evening light.
Unable to resist, I rolled down my window to breathe the clean air in through my nose, inhaling the perfume of a million blooming flowers. My hair whipped behind me, tousling my carefully-combed curls, but I couldn’t find it in me to care. It was all too beautiful, too perfect. The sun and the water and the acres upon acres of green harmonized together, calling me out into nature.
For a brief moment, I almost regretted accepting the dinner invitation. I would much rather run barefoot through the miles of green than sit in a loud, stuffy restaurant trying to make conversation with the all-powerful Mr. Dane.
The car pulled off the road onto a private lane lined with willow trees. Their ancient, dusty aroma filled my nostrils, lulling me into a happy calm as we traveled deeper into the hidden property.
Between the trees, I caught glimpses of hedges, statuary, and water, and with a pang of guilt, I wondered how much a dinner for two in a place as hidden and elite as this would cost. Chuckling at my own ethical quandary, I reminded myself that Mr. Dane could have bought the whole of Chicago if he had a mind to. A simple dinner would not put a dent in his bank account.
“Here we are, miss,” the driver said as we pulled into a circular drive at the end of the lane. “Oh, no, allow me!”
I froze halfway to the door handle, then awkwardly put my hands in my lap. I had never been accustomed to having doors opened for me, and I wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. Once he had opened my door and taken my hand to lift me out, however, the question vanished. I had been transported to a fairy wonderland, and it was all I could do to take it all in.
“Thank you,” I said vaguely.
He tipped his hat and returned to the car. Before I could ask what I was meant to do, he had pulled around the cul-de-sac and was driving away.
I forgot my anxiety as I stepped forward, toward a beautifully gnarled cherry tree. It was one of many which lined the paved circle, spreading their branches over intricately designed white benches and small tables. I was drawn through
them toward the bubble of trickling water and the overwhelming aroma of flowers in full bloom.
The path I walked glittered with shells and crystals, emphasizing the luscious extravagance of these gardens. I turned a soft corner in the path, and my breath caught in my throat. There he was, striking and dripping with class, checking an antique pocket watch beneath the bowl of a massive fountain carved into the shape of a pair of lovers, caught in the second before a passionate embrace.
“Mr. Dane?” I said hesitantly.
He looked up at me and his chiseled features split into a grin. “Right on time,” he said with uncharacteristic warmth. “Welcome.”
“Where are we?” I asked.
All I wanted to do was look at him, but my eyes were filled with the biggest roses I had ever seen, and jewel-colored humming birds zipping to and fro between lazy lacy butterflies. The deep azure of the evening sky set the perfect backdrop for the splashes of color, giving me the illusion that I had stepped into a painting.
“My gardens, of course,” Mr. Dane said, shining with pride.
“Your gardens?”
I couldn’t believe it. I was dreaming, I had to be. Real life never worked out like a fairy tale. Although, I admitted, a fairy tale would only end one way. Somehow, in spite of the magical moment, I couldn’t imagine that Mr. Dane was the Prince Charming in my own personal narrative. He and I weren’t even close to being on the same level.
My favorite little black dress and low velvet heels seemed shabby beside his expensive blue suit, and dull beside the abundance of flowers. I was very much out of my element, but I didn’t mind all that much. I could easily grow comfortable in this gently managed wilderness.
“Yes,” he said with an easy smile. “My house is this way. Do you mind walking?”
“Not at all,” I breathed, still absorbing the beauty around me. “Have you always lived here?”
“I have lived in many places around the globe,” he said, offering me his elbow. “But yes. Dane Park has always been my home.”
I wouldn’t have thought him capable of the comfortable aura he exuded in these gardens. The intense energy I had felt in his presence that morning had retreated, flowing like an undertow beneath his contentment.
I suddenly became acutely aware of a desire to explore those depths and find out everything that made this man tick. I had assumed, as most of us at work did, that Mr. Dane was a fierce, spoiled man, and invariably shallow. Within moments of meeting him where he lived, that illusion had begun to fade.
“It’s so beautiful,” I sighed happily as bluebells overflowed their plot to caress my ankle. “I can see why you call this home.”
He smiled at me, a spontaneous expression free of calculation. Thin lines crinkled around his silvery eyes, drawing my focus there. His eyes were like mirrors, reflecting the colors of the garden around us, illuminated from within.
What is your light, Mr. Dane? What is your darkness? The questions trembled on my lips, and I swallowed them. Indecipherable, invasive questions would put a quick end to this experience, I believed, and I wanted it to last.
His arm was cool electricity beneath my hand, vibrating with understated power. Around the next bend sat an intricate table, twisted into a white trunk topped with a tangle of branches which held up the crystal-lined glass top. Two cushioned chairs sat on either side of it, each looking over a dome-lidded silver platter and a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket of ice. Great oak trees rose up on two sides of the table, protecting it beneath their tightly-woven canopy of green.
“I enjoy having my meals outside whenever I get the opportunity,” he explained as he pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit. “The sky view from my office doesn’t quite fulfill my need.”
“This is perfect,” I breathed, gazing up at the natural ceiling. “Much better than a stuffy, overpriced restaurant.”
Mr. Dane chuckled. “I agree,” he said. “I avoid those places like the plague. No five-star chef can compare to my Mrs. Collins, and I much prefer to eat in peace.”
He poured my wine and removed the lid from the platter before me. My mouth instantly began to water. A fresh salad topped with small cubes of fruit and clusters of candied nuts competed with buttery scallops and lobster tail for my attention, while small dishes framed the core of the meal. Grapes, stuffed olives, wedges of citrus, and berries nestled in clouds of whipped cream sparkled around the edge of the platter, enticing me with their sweet and sharp scents.
“Is the food acceptable?” Mr. Dane asked with a worried frown. I realized that I had been staring at the platter for an awkward length of time.
“Oh, yes! It’s perfect,” I told him earnestly. “It’s just that I’ve never seen so many good things all in one place before.”
“Don’t strain yourself to finish it all,” he said with a smile. “Mrs. Collins has a tendency to go overboard, especially when my dinner companion is a charming young woman. I do believe she’s trying to marry me off.”
Well, it’s working, I thought as I sampled the magnificent salad. All it would take now would be two glasses of wine and a proper proposal, then I wouldn’t be able to resist.
“I generally avoid talking shop at the dinner table,” he said as he started his lobster. “But I value your opinion in this case, and I feel that a casual conversation over dinner is sometimes more fruitful than a formal interview. Do you agree?”
“Oh, yes,” I said with an emphatic nod. “I never could keep a secret from my mother if she put a plate of something delicious in front of me first.”
His eyes twinkled brightly, and my heart skipped a beat.
“The problem I am facing is one of image,” he continued. “And unfortunately, it is beginning to affect my sales. My executives tell me that I need to appear to be a warm, approachable, family man, which is nearly the opposite of how the public perceives me currently.
“I took the liberty of looking over your work history with the company. You seem to have a knack for understanding people beneath the surface level—children especially—but also their parents.
“So tell me, Miss Marshall…if I were your newest project and your goal was to make me not only a palatable product, but a desirable one, to mothers and fathers, how would you go about it?”
I washed down a bite of rich lobster with the last of my wine, and he immediately refilled my glass. The garden, the food, and the warm buzz of alcohol had lowered my defenses and emboldened my tongue, and I studied him carefully from across the table.
“In your case—in most cases, actually—simply rebranding the product will not help. The things you want can’t be affected; they need to come from the heart.”
He glanced away, the shadow of a scoff crossing his face. It ran deeper than disagreement, and piqued my curiosity; still, I pressed on.
“I mean it,” I insisted. “If you blossom overnight from a severe business mogul to a cuddly family man, without any sort of visible evolution, without any real changes to your life, people will see right through it. Nobody will believe that you have changed, and the deception alone will tank your sales farther. People don’t like to be deceived, Mr. Dane.”
“That, I can agree with,” he said, tipping his glass to clink mine. He stroked his perfectly shaped, strong jaw. “As a matter of fact, it was that spark of reality which drew me to you for the part of the mother. Do you have children, Miss Marshall?”
“No,” I admitted with a regretful sigh. “But that spark wasn’t conjured. I want children desperately; I always have. I’ve seen myself as a mother-in-training since I was barely out of diapers myself.”
He raised his eyebrows, and the glint in his eyes took on a new layer of interest. “So, if I may be so bold…why haven’t you had children?”
I sipped my wine, slowly and deeply. The buzz rising from my belly to my head loosened my tongue on my secrets, the power differential between myself and Mr. Dane momentarily forgotten.
“My plan was always to do things the traditiona
l way,” I said, absently stirring berries around in their cream. “Fall in love, get married, have children, stay home with them. But these days, finding men who want the same thing is difficult; and those who have wanted it, wanted it for all the wrong reasons. They wanted the economic power, the control which they imagined they would have in that dynamic. Some of them were upfront about it. Some of them…”
I shook my head at the painful memory.
“Some of them don’t show their true colors until it’s almost too late. After my last disastrous relationship, I started playing with alternative ideas. Adoption, genetic donation…but those are expensive alternatives, and I am terrible with managing money. Managing anything, really,” I finished ruefully, picturing the cluttered disaster in my apartment.
“I finally accepted the fact that I am not cut out to be a single parent. I can barely keep my own ducks in a row. Adding ducklings to that just seems like a recipe for failure.”
“So, what you need is a man who will allow you to master parenting and managing a house, who is secure enough to not oversee your every move, and who will provide for the children he gives you.”
“It doesn’t sound like much, does it?” I asked with a wistful smile. “But I guess it is.”
He watched me thoughtfully for a long moment, and I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. I realized suddenly that we had shifted gears from his problems to mine, and I wasn’t entirely sure how that happened. I frowned at my champagne flute, blaming it for my confusion.
“Are you satisfied with your meal?” he asked me.
“Oh yes, it was wonderful, and incredibly filling. I can’t eat another bite.”
“Neither can I. Let’s take a walk while it settles, shall we?”
Chapter 6
Jonathan
Her arm felt lovely in mine, soft and small with a hint of strength. She walked smoothly, her hips swaying delightfully as she moved, an enticing pendulum beneath her trim, narrow waist. From a purely genetic standpoint, she was perfect, and I probably would have considered her even if her personality was utterly unpleasant; the fact that she was smart and easy to talk to made her utterly irresistible.
Baby, ASAP - A Billionaire Buys a Baby Romance (Babies for the Billionaire Book 3) Page 4
