Just What I Needed (The Need You Series)

by Lorelei James

  “All right.”

  “Hold up. First, you want to tell me why you showed up at my house with a sledgehammer and your cat?”

  And about twenty cans of paint. But he hadn’t seen that yet. “How’d you know about that?”

  “Mom told my intervention crew—my brothers and cousins—that showed up at the lake today.”

  “That’s where you’ve been the past few days? Chilling at the lake?” I kicked myself for not thinking of that.

  “We do our soul-searching in different places. On the water is mine.”

  “Since I couldn’t get ahold of you, I brought everything with me, including Buttons. You know, as a sign I was here to stay.”

  “That cat is in my house?”

  “Ah. I think so. I haven’t seen her since the piano delivery guys were here. Anyway, I didn’t bring a sledgehammer. It’s a rubber mallet for the paint can lids because I found my next project.”

  “Which is … ?”

  “You.”

  That blue-eyed gaze hooked mine.

  “I mean, your house. I’m painting the living room and then we’ll buy real furniture. After that, I’m working on the kitchen. Since you own a restoration company, I assume you can get the staircase updated and redo the big window and alcove up on the landing before I start up there.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Years, probably. So you’d better get used to—eep!” Walker plucked me up and settled me on his lap so we were face-to-face.

  “Is this your way of moving in with me?”

  “This is my way of telling you I love you and I want this to be our home. So let me do that for you. For us.”

  He rested his forehead to mine. “That sounds like heaven, having you here with me, in my life, in my bed every day for the rest of our lives.”

  “Well, I will have to go back to my place to work since that’s where my studio is, but I’m sure most nights I’ll make it back here—”

  “No. You will be with me all nights. I’ll build you a brand-new studio on the back corner with all the bells and whistles and whatever you want in it.”

  “But that’ll take time and I can’t not have a studio for a few months.”

  “Fine. We’ll move into your house while the renovations are being done and your studio is being built. Then, as soon as it’s finished, we’ll move back in here and sell your place.” He kissed me twice. “Because now that I have you, sweetheart, I ain’t ever letting you go. I’ve been waiting for you … for what seems like forever.”

  “Same goes. You don’t think … this happened too fast?”

  “What? Falling in love? Or us moving in together?”

  “Both, I guess.”

  “No, baby. It happened when it was supposed to happen. When we both needed it to happen.”

  There was my sweet, sweet man. “So no regrets about me kissing you in the bar that night?”

  “None.”

  “I was thinking it’ll be a great story we can tell our kids someday.”

  “Babe. I love the way you think.”

  SEE HOW THE NEED YOU SERIES BEGAN

  WITH LENNOX AND BRADY’S STORY IN

  What You Need

  AVAILABLE NOW FROM SIGNET.

  CONTINUE READING FOR A PREVIEW.

  One

  LENNOX

  “What’s he doing in our department?”

  I glanced up from my computer, knowing even before I saw the suit at the end of the hallway who garnered the reverent tone from my coworker Sydney. I had the same reverence for the man; however, I did a much better job of masking it.

  “Oh hell, here he comes. How do I look?” she whispered.

  “You know the only thing that matters to him is if you look busy.”

  Sydney smoothed her hair. “Lennox, lighten up. And ignore me while I busily and silently compose sonnets to that man’s everything, because he is the total package.”

  I laughed—longer than I usually did. “Go for it, Syd. I’ll just be over here, you know, doing my job while you’re waxing poetic about him.” I returned my focus to spell-checking my notes from this morning’s meeting. I knew I had a misspelled or misused word, but I couldn’t find the damn thing.

  “Wait. He’s stopping to talk to Penny,” Sydney informed me.

  I felt a slight sneer form on my lips. Of course he’s stopping to talk to Perky Penny—she hadn’t earned that nickname from her disposition. Even I couldn’t keep my eyes off her pert parts—which she kept properly covered in deference to the dress code at Lund Industries. But I knew that given the chance, she’d proudly display them as if she worked at Hooters.

  Wouldn’t you?

  Nope. Been there, done that.

  Sydney muttered and I ignored her, hell-bent on finding the mistake. I leaned closer to the computer monitor, as if that would help. Ah, there it is. I highlighted the word in question. Had he meant to say disperse? Or disburse? And was there enough difference in the definitions to warrant a call for clarification?

  Without checking the dictionary app on my computer, I said, “Sydney. You were an English major. What’s the difference between disperse and disburse?”

  “Disburse means to pay out money. Disperse means to go in different directions,” a deep male voice answered.

  I lifted my gaze to see none other than Brady Lund himself, the CFO of Lund Industries, looming over my desk.

  Outwardly I maintained my cool even as I felt my neck heating beneath the lace blouse I wore. I picked up a pen and ignored the urge to give the man a once-over, because I already knew what I’d find: Mr. Freakin’ Perfect. Brady Lund was always impeccably dressed, showcasing his long, lean body in an insanely expensive suit. He was always immaculately coiffed—his angular face smoothly shaven, his thick dark hair artfully tousled, giving the appearance of boyish charm.

  As if a shark could be charming.

  My coworkers and I had speculated endlessly about whether the CFO plucked his dark eyebrows to give his piercing blue eyes a more visceral punch. And whether he practiced raising his left eyebrow so mockingly. For that reason alone I avoided meeting his gaze.

  Okay, that was not the only reason. I didn’t make eye contact because the man defined hot, smart and sexy.

  But he also defined smug—half the time. I wanted to ask if he job-shared with an evil twin, but I doubted he’d laugh since he had no sense of humor, from what I’d heard.

  Aware that he awaited my response, I said, “Thank you for the clarification, Mr. Lund.”

  “I shouldn’t have to clarify that since you’ve worked here for—what, ten months? Financial terms should be familiar to you by now.”

  He was chastising me? First thing? My mouth opened before my brain screamed, STOP. “I’ve been employed here for almost a year, actually. And, sir, I’ll remind you that just because the office temps department is located on the sixth floor—one of the five floors that are the province of the financial department—we floaters don’t specifically work only for the Finance department at Lund Industries. We also float between Human Resources, Marketing, Development and Acquisitions, as well as Legal.”

  “Explain what you mean by floaters.”

  “You had absolutely no idea that our small department exists, let alone what we do, did you?” I said tartly.

  I heard Sydney suck in a sharp breath next to me. “What she means is that since as CFO you have an executive assistant and don’t normally utilize the services of the office temps—also known as floaters—you wouldn’t personally be aware of the breadth of our responsibilities,” Sydney inserted diplomatically. “Our department is supervised by Personnel.”

  “Indeed. Then, please, enlighten me on which department you’re transcribing that document for?”

  “Marketing.”

  “Mind if I take a look?” Then he sidestepped my desk and sidled in behind me.

  My body went rigid as he literally looked over my shoulder. I wasn’t as disturbed by the thought he
might see something I had done wrong as I was by his close proximity. His very close proximity, since I could feel the heat of his body and was treated to a whiff of his subtle cologne.

  He put his hand over mine on the mouse and murmured, “Pardon,” as he completely invaded my space. I didn’t move because it’d be my luck if I shifted my arm and elbowed the CFO in the groin.

  Three clicks and two huffed breaths later, he retreated. “I apologize. I understand your confusion. Marcus in Marketing misused the word. It should be disburse. Nice catch.”

  “That’s my job.”

  “Since it’s a formal request, Marcus will have to correct it before you can pass it on to Legal. If you’ll give me the original paperwork, I’d be happy to drop it off in Marcus’s office on my way to my meeting.”

  “Thank you, sir, for the offer. But company protocol requires me to deliver the paperwork directly to Marcus—Mr. Benito.”

  His shoes were so silent I didn’t hear him move. One second he was behind me; the next he stood in front of me. “A real stickler for the rules, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.” I finally met his gaze. “With all due respect, how do I know this isn’t some sort of performance review pretest?”

  His lack of a smile indicated he wasn’t amused.

  But I didn’t back down; I needed this job. It was the first job I’d ever had where I wasn’t slinging drinks or scrubbing toilets. Besides, the CFO—of all people—should be aware of the rules.

  “Bravo, Miss Greene—sorry, that’s an assumption on my part. Or is it Mrs. Greene?”

  “No, sir. Ms. Greene is fine. But I prefer to be called Lennox.”

  Then Mr. Freakishly Perfect bestowed the mother lode of smiles; his lush lips curved up, his dimples popped out and the lines by his eyes crinkled. “Well, Lennox, please see that Marcus—Mr. Benito—is aware of his error before day’s end, because I will follow up on this.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded and started down the hallway.

  I clenched my teeth to keep my jaw from dropping. Not just from the weird interlude, but because the man looked as good from the back as he did from the front.

  “Holy shit,” Sydney breathed after she was sure he’d gone. “What was that?”

  “No idea.”

  “Lennox. He knows your name.”

  “Of course he knows my name. It’s right here on my desk.” Working as a floater meant my nameplate went everywhere with me, but on the days I was at my desk I usually didn’t bother putting it out.

  Aren’t you glad you bothered today?

  “Come on. He was fishing for information on whether you were single.”

  I groaned, hating that Sydney wouldn’t let this go. “So, now he knows …”

  “Maybe he’ll ask you out,” she said with a drawn-out sigh.

  “Maybe you should put some of that creative thinking into your report,” I retorted, and got back to work.

  BRADY

  “Jenna. Could you come in when you have a free moment?”

  I didn’t wait for my admin to answer. I just poked the intercom button off and spun around in my chair. Not even the forty-fourth-floor view of downtown Minneapolis held my interest.

  Restlessness had dogged me the past several months. I kept waiting for it to abate, for something to occur that required my full focus. But nothing had happened either professionally or personally. I just continued to drift along, waiting for … what, exactly?

  Your life to begin?

  Jenna knocked twice and walked in. Why she bothered to knock escaped me; there was no pause between the knock and her entrance. One time when I asked her why she knocked first, she said her Midwestern upbringing was too ingrained to just barge in. I warned her that someday she might barge in and find me in a delicate situation. She’d retorted that if I actually took the time to do something bad, raunchy or out of character, she deserved to be the first person to witness it.

  “You rang, sir?”

  Sir. Jenna refused to call me Brady. It was “sir,” or “boss” or “Mr. Lund.” She’d been my admin for two years and I spent more time with her than with anyone else in my life. When I was newly minted in my position as CFO, I’d equated her using my first name as a sign of our professional intimacy, whereas she saw using it as a sign of disrespect since she had fifteen years on me agewise.

  “Yes. Forgive my ignorance, but how closely do you work with the office temps—the floaters?”

  She sat in the high-back leather chair across from my desk. “Not often. If you’ve got a large presentation that requires assembling reams of paperwork, I’ll ask for assistance. But they’re usually spread so thin down there it’s just easier to get Patrice to help out.”

  Patrice. She was my admin’s secretary, which gave Patrice the false impression that she was somehow my undersecretary. And Patrice had made no bones about how much she’d like to be under me.

  “Why do you ask?”

  Because there’s this prim blonde I’m hot for who intrigues the hell out of me. “I ended up down on the sixth floor and publicly showed my ignorance about what the term floater means as well as what the office temp job entails.”

  Jenna’s eyes widened. “I imagine that went over well with their department.”

  “Not so much.”

  “What were you doing down by Personnel? Are you looking for a new secretary, boss?”

  “I’ll get you any secretary you want if you’ll send Patrice packing,” I said dryly.

  “No deal. She’s still afraid of me. Once she loses that fear, she’ll slack off and I’ll replace her.”

  “So that’s how it works with you and your minion. I wondered.”

  “Back to the floaters. Did you find them lazing about or something?”

  “No. And can’t someone come up with a better term for their department than floaters?”

  “If you want to be technical, sir, in the past that group of employees used to be called the ‘secretarial pool.’ They’re permanent office workers who temporarily float to any department where additional help is needed, hence the term floaters.”

  “I still don’t like it. Anyway … am I really that out of touch with this company that I didn’t know about the existence of an entire group of employees?”

  “First of all, boss, the number of employees working for Lund Industries in the Twin Cities is over five thousand—fifteen hundred employees work in this building alone. You don’t know the minutiae of the dockworkers’ jobs any more than you do the floaters in the office temp department. That doesn’t make you out of touch. It makes the managers in those departments effective, because they’re not coming to you with personnel problems.”

  “You should’ve gone into diplomacy.”

  “It’s my job to remind you of yours—you cannot do it all and know it all, sir, though you are determined to try.” She smirked. “There are some people in this company who claim the floating crew of office workers concept is outdated and they’re proposing Lund do away with that department altogether and outsource temporary help when needed.”

  “From your tone, I take it you don’t agree?”

  Jenna pointed at my computer. “We have an IT department. They go to whatever department they’re needed in. I don’t see how the office temps are any different. Like with IT, it’s important to keep hiring new secretarial workers because they’re trained with the most recent technology.”

  “You’ve given this more than just a passing thought.”

  She shrugged. “My executive assistant title means ‘secretary with more responsibilities at a higher wage,’ so the office workers, floaters, secretaries—whatever you prefer to call them—are my sisters in arms. I get defensive when their abilities or importance is questioned.”

  Usually Jenna was so even-keeled. Her brittle attitude alarmed me, so I needed to keep a closer eye on the situation with her sisters in arms, regardless of whether it was my job. “Where’d you hear these rumors about disbanding
the temp workers?” I held up my hand. “Forget I asked. I know you won’t reveal your source. But I would ask, if you do hear anything else, that you let me know so I can make sure Personnel handles it fairly.” I disliked Anita Mohr, the head of Personnel. Human Resources fielded more issues involving her than all other employees in this building. But she was my uncle Archer’s pet, so she had a weird immunity.

  “Will do.” Jenna stood. “That was all you needed to talk to me about, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll remind you there’s a meeting at three in the boardroom.” She paused after opening the door. “And Maggie seemed really excited that your father has some kind of big opportunity for you.”

  I gave Jenna an arch look. “As my admin, the least you could do—”

  “Huh-uh, boss. You’re on your own with the craziness that is the Lund Board of Directors. Buzz me if you need anything else.”

  I glanced at my watch. Even for a Friday, it was too early to start drinking.

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