Head Over Heels for the Boss (Donovan Brothers)

by Susan Meier

  He’d been caring for his family since he was ten—over two and a half decades. He wasn’t about to stop now. And if that meant being cautious, stingy even, about what he taught Isabelle, then so be it.

  He only had to hope she—a woman with an MBA who’d been running a small business for at least three years—didn’t notice.

  Chapter Three

  After checking the classifieds the next morning, to make sure her “help wanted” ad for Buds and Blossoms was in and correct, Isabelle drove to the Donovan residence and found the back door of “the house” unlocked. Stepping into the quiet halls, she had to admit if she hadn’t just walked by a swimming pool, the space would feel more like a place of business than a home. She took the few steps that got her to her office door, opened it, and walked inside. The empty desk and chair greeted her.

  She took a breath. Fear weakened her knees, tightened her lungs. Even though the Donovan brides believed working with Devon would be good for her, she wasn’t entirely sure she agreed. She’d always been her own boss. She’d never worked for someone else. She’d never worked in an office. Hell, who was she kidding? She’d never worked in a structured environment. At the florist shop, she simply did what needed to be done. Including order her parents around.

  She winced. She had been their manager. And she didn’t really order them around. She gave them assignments. Now, she’d be the one taking orders.

  From the Devon Donovan. Better looking and sexier in person than in her fantasies.

  Boy, this six months really wasn’t going to be easy.

  Devon stepped out of his office, his eyes on the document he held. He stood before her, the picture of a business executive in his navy blue pants, pale blue shirt and print tie. While she wore jeans and a white T-shirt on which a petunia replaced yesterday’s sunflower.

  She hadn’t wanted to wear the petunia shirt. But she had to create some sprays for the O’Donnell wake, and this afternoon there’d probably be orders for more. Besides, she didn’t have any clothes suitable for an office. She had one gray suit. And, honest to God, if she currently felt uncomfortable in one of the many “flower” T-shirts she had in her closet, the ugly suit would have been worse.

  “Good morning.”

  His gaze shot up, almost as if he’d forgotten that she started working for him today.

  “Morning, Izz…Belle,” he corrected with an awkward smile.

  He was uncomfortable, too? Good. He was the one who’d brought her to this den of organization and structure. He should suffer as much as she would.

  She pointed at the desk. “So I sit here?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Great.” She tossed her backpack to her desk, suddenly feeling fifteen. Backpack? Seriously? Shouldn’t she have a purse by now? And clothes other than jeans and T-shirts with flowers emblazoned on the front? When had she decided to freeze herself in time?

  “I saw the ad in today’s paper,” Devon said.

  “You checked up on me?”

  One of his eyebrows rose. “I checked up on a business I now own and the work of an employee.”

  She swallowed. She’d never really been reprimanded before. Though what he’d said hadn’t been god-awful, she felt the sting of being wrong and knew this would probably be the first of many awkward moments like this. “Okay. Got it.”

  He pointed at her desk chair. “Have a seat. I’ll be back in a second.”

  As he returned to his office, Isabelle was treated to the vision of his perfect butt.

  How could a man look so sexy in suit trousers?

  By being toned and fit, her brain answered.

  He was fit and toned. Just like yesterday’s white shirt, today’s pale blue one showed off a back that clearly went to a gym a few times a week and tapered into a trim waist and lean hips.

  Scolding herself for noticing things she wasn’t supposed to notice, she sat on her chair. Within seconds Devon was back. He set two stacks of papers on her desk.

  “These represent about thirty percent of the investment requests we get each month.”

  She glanced up and met his sexy dark eyes. Her heart caught and twisted. There was no doubt about the fact that he was gorgeous. He didn’t merely have the Donovan chiseled features that made him handsome in a classic, movie-star way. There was something in his eyes. Not exactly a spark, but more of a knowing. Maybe a sign of experience?

  “People come to you for money?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  The simple one-word, no-nonsense answer reverberated all the way to her toes. With their gazes locked and the air between them getting thin and hard to breathe, she wondered if that was how he’d be in bed. Simple. No nonsense.

  “There are apparently hundreds of thousands of people out there who have a great idea and just need a few hundred thousand dollars to get it off the ground.” He looked away and pointed to the right. “That’s this stack.” He pointed to the left. “This stack contains the letters, emails, and prospectuses of companies that are failing. They’re looking for salvation money.”

  She smiled up at him. “That’s cute.” But when their eyes caught again, her heart chugged to a stop.

  “Cute?”

  She swallowed. Trapped in his serious eyes, she tried to remember what Ellie and Piper had said about meeting other men, but their suggestion faded away into ether. Right in front of her was the sexiest man she’d ever met. He was the one she wanted.

  Her voice a mere whisper, she said, “Salvation is a fun choice of word.”

  “Okay. Great.” He cleared his throat and glanced away. “Anyway, we’re not in the business of saving people.”

  He pulled in a breath, and Isabelle realized he was as nervous as she was. But why? All he had to do was talk. She was the one who had to remember everything he said.

  “Not every business should be saved. But there are those who deserve a bailout, and we have the money to help them.”

  He nudged the files aside and sat on the corner of her desk. “The thing is, we can’t just throw money at companies. We will monitor, and sometimes even take over, the companies with potential, until we see they’re on their feet.”

  She glanced at the stack. “That’s a lot of work.”

  “It is. And once we hit critical mass on companies we’ve decided to invest in, we won’t be able to take on new projects.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she caught his gaze again. “I thought you were a lawyer?”

  “I am.”

  “So how do you know all this?”

  “I’m a corporate lawyer.”

  “So how’d you handle your mom’s divorce?”

  His eyebrows rose.

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to overstep.”

  “That’s all right. We live in a small town. We know each other’s histories. But in this office we will follow protocol.”

  “Got it.” Unfortunately, because she’d never worked in an office, she had no idea what the protocol was. Note to self: talk to Ellie about protocol.

  He grabbed the chair to the right of her desk and pulled it beside her. Reaching for a file, he sat—six inches away.

  Spicy and sophisticated, his cologne drifted to her. But her reaction to that was nothing compared to the shower of tingles that rained down on her because of his nearness.

  He opened the file and set it on the desk in front of both of them.

  She forced her mind off him and on to the file.

  Apparently unaware of the effect he had on her, he continued, “This business owner just sent us an email and invited us to go online for his financials and to look at the website that advertises his products.”

  She glanced over with a smile of understanding, but when their eyes met, her stomach fell. He was near, he was gorgeous, and he smelled like heaven. Their faces were so close all she’d have to do would be lean in and she could brush his lips with hers.

  She searched his nearly black eyes, wondering what he’d do if she kissed him. For Pete�
��s sake, she’d had a crush on him forever. She’d never be this close again. And all she wanted was one kiss.

  “So,” he said, “we’re not interested.”

  He said he wasn’t interested, but his voice had slowed almost to a crawl. So had time. So had the warm blood in her veins.

  She whispered, “We’re…not interested?”

  “We should be, but we’re not. And do you know why?”

  Because two people working together weren’t supposed to kiss? Because he was admittedly a little older than she was? Because she wasn’t pretty enough? Not sophisticated like Ellie or adorable like Piper?

  Disappointed, she shook her head. “I don’t have a clue.”

  “He’s lazy.”

  That brought her out of her trance. “What?”

  “A man asking for money, who won’t send his financials to prove his worth, isn’t thinking. We don’t want any piece of that.”

  What the hell was wrong with her? Imagining kissing him when he was talking about work? If he ever figured that out, he’d fire her before she could blink. And then where would she get the money to buy back her flower shop?

  “No,” she said. “We certainly don’t want a piece of that.”

  Devon spent only another minute beside Isabelle. He had the oddest feeling sitting next to her, almost like he didn’t know her at all. Which was absurd. She was Izzy. Everybody in Harmony Hills knew Izzy. Even if she did want to be called Belle.

  He considered asking her why she had seemed to be so unhappy about his family buying the flower shop, but they were still in the office. She wouldn’t be any more prone to tell him today than she had been the day before. They had to be somewhere she’d be more relaxed. He hadn’t had time to check to see if she’d been at Petie’s Pub the night before, but maybe he should tonight?

  “So, are the flowers done for the O’Donnell wake?”

  “Sorry. No. In fact, I have to return to the shop as soon as I can this morning to check for orders on the answering machine because the Benjamin Brats can’t start until tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Great. Go.”

  She nodded eagerly and all but leaped out of her seat. This time Devon knew he wasn’t imagining things. She did not want to be here. She might not even want this job. His gut told him there was a reason for that. He just needed the right minute to ask her about it.

  With Isabelle gone, the morning sped by. Afternoon came and went with no call from her. No report on how much work she had to do. No announcement on whether or not she’d return to the office the next morning.

  He walked through the downstairs, wondering if she’d returned and his mother had waylaid her. But Isabelle wasn’t in the kitchen, where his mom sat at the counter reading recipes from a big red and white checkered cookbook.

  “Devon.” She gave him a puzzled look. “What are you doing out of the office?”

  “Looking for Isa—Belle.”

  “I thought you sent her to the flower shop to check on sprays for the O’Donnell funeral?”

  “I did.”

  “So?”

  “That was this morning.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s—”

  “Past five,” his mother said with a laugh. “Maybe she thinks five is quitting time.”

  He ran his hand along the back of his neck. “Yeah. Maybe.” He sighed. “Probably.”

  “You should be done for the day, too. Go change out of that suit. We’ll sit on the back deck and have a beer.”

  “Okay.” He did as his mother asked. Got out of the suit and into a pair of jeans and a big, comfortable T-shirt. But on his way down the back steps into the kitchen, he knew this was all wrong. Isabelle wasn’t happy with something about his deal with her parents, and she had the perfect excuse for avoiding him in the flower shop. If he didn’t talk to her soon, he’d have a mess on his hands.

  As he entered the kitchen, he said, “I don’t feel right about her not reporting in. I’ve got to go check on her.”

  Oddly, his mother brightened. “So you won’t be here for dinner?”

  “I guess not. Sorry.” He walked toward the kitchen entry to the garage, grabbed keys from one of the pegs on the wall. “I’ll get something from the diner while I’m out.”

  His mother’s odd smile grew. “Okay.”

  He entered the garage with conflicting feelings buffeting him. On the one hand, it was fantastic to see his mom happy and comfortable. She could make a meal without worrying that his dad would come home drunk, curse her for being a lousy cook, and then slap her. Or slap her sons. Or punch her sons. Or make her cower in fear.

  He shoved that memory out of his brain and forced himself to focus on Isabelle, the other side of his conflicting thoughts. Considering that she’d basically worked for family her entire life, she probably hadn’t had much in the way of rules. So, though he did have a funny feeling about her behavior around him, this might just be a case of her not understanding office protocol. Still, this could also be the opportunity he’d been looking for to talk to her. Out of the office, on her home turf, she’d probably admit things she wouldn’t admit sitting in an uncomfortable office or in the noise of Petie’s Pub.

  He slid his sleek Porsche into the empty parking space in front of Buds and Blossoms. Because it was after five, Main Street was quiet. Most people were probably home making dinner. But the open sign was in the window of the little green brick florist building. He got out of his car and walked up to the door, which was unlocked.

  A bell tinkled as he stepped inside. He almost said “Izzy” but caught himself. “Belle?”

  “Back here!”

  He followed the sound of her melodious voice to a room where she stood at a long table. Shallow cardboard boxes filled with various long-stemmed flowers covered it and a counter behind her. Four arrangements—two sophisticated lily bouquets, a small spray of pink carnations, and one huge bouquet of multi-colored mums in a basket—sat on a shelf close to the back door.

  She didn’t even glance at him. “What’s up?”

  He ignored the unexpected feeling of insult at her all but ignoring him, and pretended to be interested in the cut greens, broken stems, and damaged flowers that littered the floor, along with the green spongey-looking stuff that was usually put in the containers for the arrangements to hold the flowers in place. The rubber gloves she wore were tinted green from finger to palm. He’d spent all day thinking about her—in a supervisory way—and she hadn’t given him two thoughts.

  “I just wondered where you were,” Devon said.

  “I told you I had arrangements to make.”

  He carefully walked closer. “I know, but I assumed you’d check in. When you didn’t, I decided to check on you.”

  She peeked up at him, her face a study in confusion. “Why?”

  “Because that’s what employers do.”

  She sighed. “Seriously? If I don’t check in you’re going to come looking for me?”

  If this was part of her problem with working with him, she might as well know the truth. “Yes.”

  “And just how often do I have to call and use precious time to report the obvious?”

  He had to work to keep from agreeing with her. Why did her insubordination sound like logic? “Often enough that I know where you are during business hours.” He walked to her table, picked up a pink carnation.

  She slid her gaze over to his. “Don’t touch the flowers unless you intend to help me finish this.”

  He laughed, suddenly understanding a bit of what was going on. Not only had she always set her own hours and schedule, but she’d spent her entire career being the one to give orders, not take them. “Did anybody ever tell you you’re sassy?”

  “Most of my professors, and my parents about once a week.”

  He had to stifle another laugh. She was such a smarty pants. It almost seemed a shame that he was going to have to break her. “You don’t even try to deny it?”

  “No sense to it.”

  No. He supposed
not. He met her gaze again. “You know, as your boss, I’m going to have to train that out of you.”

  She laughed. “You can try.”

  All his male hormones whooshed through him like a sled dog team at the starting pistol for the Iditarod. “Is that a dare?”

  She put a rose in between two white flowers he couldn’t name, stood back, and admired her handiwork. “Nope. I think it was more like a warning.”

  The challenge of it rippled through him. He should have wanted to yell. Instead he only saw fun. He couldn’t remember the last time he had fun. He couldn’t remember ever joking with a co-worker. Yet, somehow with Isabelle it seemed okay. “Fine. Then I’ll warn you that I don’t take insubordination lightly.”

  Their eyes met. The light in hers flickered, and he saw it. Attraction. Interest. Something.

  “Okay.” Her soft, breathy voice was back. But outside of the office he heard it for what it was: an involuntary reaction that happened when a woman was attracted to a man. His senses shifted and sharpened, making him remember her responses to him in the office and interpret them differently. She couldn’t like him because they didn’t know each other that well. But could she have a crush on him? Like when she had asked him to her prom—

  When she was seventeen and desperate because her boyfriend had just broken up with her. If it had been any time in his life other than a few weeks after coming home from a deployment, he probably would have been kinder in the way he’d handled it. As it was, he’d abruptly told her no and walked away. And they’d forgotten it.

  Hadn’t they?

  He had, until now, but what if she hadn’t? What if he’d hurt her?