Just one kiss (The Ashcrofts Book 1)

by Anderson, Poppy J.

  “Peter,” he said warningly. “Stop trying to lecture me.”

  That seemed to work like a spell. Peter grew pale and shut up.

  Patrick took a deep breath. “I had three amazing weeks in Rome,” he said more amicably. “Now I’m back, and you can stop working on developing that ulcer of yours.”

  “Fine,” Peter griped, pulling at his tie. “But next time, tell me in advance before you leave for a ridiculous vacation. I’ll be jumping ship and going abroad, too.”

  Patrick smiled. “’Atta boy.”

  Unfortunately, Peter couldn’t suppress his frustrated sigh. “Tell me, was it an affair that made you disappear from the face of the earth? It was, wasn’t it?”

  “Something like that,” Patrick said. He lifted his hand, showing his best friend the wedding ring on his left ring finger.

  The elevator emitted another ding, and the doors opened.

  Patrick ignored his friend’s stunned expression and stepped out of the elevator and into the main office, which was busy and crowded.

  Of course, Peter’s speechlessness didn’t last for more than a few seconds. “What?” he hissed, rushing to catch up to Patrick. “What is that? Are you pranking me?”

  Instead of acknowledging his friend, Patrick nodded at the receptionist, who rose from her chair and wished him an all but reverent good morning. “Mr. Ashcroft, it’s good to see you back.”

  He gave her a friendly smile. “Thank you, Miss Pierce.”

  “Patrick.” Peter was still trying to attract his attention as more employees lifted their heads and greeted Patrick, wishing him a good morning and welcoming him back. Peter’s voice was a tense whisper behind him. “You don’t mean to tell me that you got married on vacation! Patrick!”

  He nodded at one of his assistants and turned to Peter. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean to do. Because that’s what I did.”

  “You are messing with me now. There’s no way. This is a joke.”

  “Not at all. We got married two days ago.” Patrick cleared his throat and opened a glass door emblazoned with the company logo. “You’ll meet her soon.”

  Peter followed him into the room and down another hall. “That’s the only thing you can come up with right now?”

  “What else do you want me to say?”

  “Maybe what, exactly, made you marry a woman you’ve known for … how long? One week? Two?”

  Since Peter was his friend, and Patrick still felt too cheerful to scold him about minding his own business, he simply said, “Three weeks.”

  “Patrick. Oh my God, Patrick—”

  “Peter, you’re not my father.” Patrick walked on, stepping into the waiting area of his own office. Peter followed on his heel, unacknowledged.

  Mrs. McDough, the gray-haired secretary who used to work for Patrick’s father and was now his own PA, looked at him in surprise when he came in. She immediately rose from her chair and smiled. “Mr. Ashcroft! When did you get back?”

  Patrick took her hands into his own with a laugh. He had known Maggie McDough since he was a little boy, when she had given him candy every time he’d visited his father’s office.

  “Late last night,” he replied and gave her a lopsided grin. “Did you miss me?”

  The older woman winked at him from behind her tiny, silver-rimmed glasses. “Did you have a nice vacation?”

  “Absolutely,” he admitted happily. “I got married, Mrs. McDough.”

  She have him a look of surprise, but then said with great sincerity, “Congratulations, Mr. Ashcroft. I’m so very happy for you.”

  He leaned down and kissed her gingerly on the cheek. “Thank you.” He chuckled dryly at Peter’s heavy, meaningful sigh. “I guess that’s my cue now.”

  Mrs. McDough took a step back, smiling. “I’ll bring you the updated files later, yes, Mr. Ashcroft?”

  “Yes, thank you.” He turned to glance at Peter, who followed him silently into his office, and closed the door behind them. Then Patrick let his eyes roam his office as he set his briefcase on the desk and Peter threw himself in the visitor’s chair with a theatrical flourish.

  “You’re right,” he continued, as if their conversation had not been interrupted, “I’m not your father. But I am your best friend. Therefore, I am entitled to worry about you.”

  Patrick leaned against his desk and undid the button on his coat so he could cross his arms. “I appreciate your concern,” he said lightly, “but it’s completely unnecessary, Peter.”

  “Are you really so sure?”

  He uttered a sigh of frustration. “Peter, could you please let it go?”

  “But what do you even know about her?”

  “I know everything I need to know. Believe me, I’ve thought it through. I’m crazy about Amy, I love her, and getting married was the only sensible decision.”

  His frankness seemed to surprise his perplexed friend. Peter leaned back and took a deep, drawn-out breath. “Alright. But what happens when the infatuation fades? Don’t you think a wedding already is really rushing it?”

  He was getting increasingly fed up with justifying himself to Peter, so he said curtly, “You weren’t listening to me. I’m not infatuated, I love her. Are we done here? You said there was so much to do. Isn’t that why you filled up my voicemail with your frantic whining?” He picked up the phone on his desk with an air of finality.

  “Did you at least sign a prenup?”

  Patrick slammed the receiver back down and glared at Peter. “Fuck! Are you even listening?”

  “All I’m saying is that you should avoid—”

  “Stop meddling in my decisions!” He loosened his tie and opened the top button on his shirt, furious about the direction their conversation had taken. “You’re speaking to me as if I’m a slow-witted idiot who can’t tie his own shoes!”

  “You, of all people, should know how important a water-tight contract is, no matter what kind of transaction.”

  “Transaction?” Patrick roared. “You’re talking about my marriage here, not some kind of contract!”

  Peter leaned forward and stared at him. “Do you have any idea how large a settlement your wife may demand if you have no prenup to decide that? We’re not talking peanuts here.”

  Patrick was ready to hit the roof. He balled his hands into fists. “Just to make something crystal clear here, Peter: Until yesterday, Amy had no idea that I even have money. You don’t know what she’s like. If you knew her, you’d know that there is nobody who could care less about money.”

  Peter emitted a low, disdainful snort. “Even if she didn’t know about your money before she agreed to marry you, all that can change quickly when it comes to a divorce. Don’t you remember Harris Thompson?”

  “Why do you keep talking about divorce?” Patrick shook his head to dismiss the insinuations. “Stop it, now! I don’t want to hear any of that anymore.”

  But Peter was a pit bull determined to sink his teeth into the topic. That’s what made him such a good employee. “Let me call the legal department real quick. Then your wife can still—”

  “You’re not calling anyone,” Patrick replied severely.

  Peter gave him an incredulous look. “If she files for divorce, she could get half of what you’re worth! Do you know what that means?”

  “Either you shut up this instant, or I’m going to throw you out of my office,” Patrick said, his voice dangerously low.

  His friend made a disgruntled face and pointed at the phone. “Fine. You’ve got a whole ’nother mess to clean up. Get to work. Your honeymoon can wait.”

  ***

  “Is she pregnant? She must be pregnant, right?”

  “Barbara,” Patrick snapped at his sister, burying his face in his hands, still sitting behind his massive desk. “Amy is not pregnant.”

  It wasn’t even noon, and Patrick was already exhausted and annoyed beyond belief, his shirt sleeves rolled up to tackle all the obstacles as he secretly yearned for the peace and quiet
of the lonely beach hut in Tuscany. After the irritating conversation with Peter, he’d had a catastrophic meeting with the departmental heads, who were responsible for the chaos surrounding the Hanson merger. After that, he’d had the exquisite pleasure of receiving a phone call from a member of the board of directors, who tried to lecture him on the irresponsibility of the younger generation until Patrick had been furious enough to hang up on him. And, between those things, he’d downed far too many cups of coffee.

  To top it all off, his sister had graced him with her call, too. The phone had rung when he’d been about to take the first bite of his lunch. By now his stomach was growling and churning, since he hadn’t fed it anything but coffee so far that day.

  “If she isn’t pregnant, you need to explain to me why you married her.”

  “Come on!” he yelled at his sister, fondly remembering the time he’d smuggled a live frog into her Barbie Dreamhouse to avenge the G.I. Joe of his that she’d broken. This was another moment when he felt the urge to do something to show her how much she was irritating him. “Did I ever ask you why you married James?”

  “That’s completely different!” she crowed. “James and I met in college, and we dated for several years before he proposed to me.”

  “Barbara …” He groaned. “I’m sorry I dared to mention your perfect marriage, but my nerves are a little raw right now. Can we maybe talk in a few days?”

  “Does Mom know?”

  “You sound just like Stuart,” he accused, leaning back in his chair. “And I’m sick of it! Mom’s in South Africa, and I don’t want her cutting her vacation short over this. She’s finally on her way to becoming her old self again, so I don’t want you harassing her—”

  “Who says I’m harassing her?” Barbara cried shrilly. “Patrick, she will want to know that you got married.”

  He sighed heavily. “Why don’t you leave her a little time to focus just on herself? As soon as she gets back, she’ll get to know Amy. Why should she cut her stay short when it’s apparently doing her a whole lot of good?”

  Barbara was silent for a moment. “Are you afraid of telling her?”

  Patrick frowned and rotated his desk chair to take in the view of the Manhattan skyline, which, on a clear day like this, was visible in stark, sparkling detail. “Mom is going to like Amy, Barbara, and she’ll be happy for us. Contrary to the rest of my family,” he added bitterly. “So why would I be afraid to tell her?”

  “Don’t make Stuart and me look like bastards,” she griped in a low voice. “We only want what’s best for you.”

  “Thank you so much,” he said sarcastically. “Especially for the concern and advice from my twenty-two-year-old brother, such a pillar of the community, who was nearly kicked out of high school for streaking through the girls’ locker room, and who managed to force us to fund an observatory for his college as a bribe to keep him there. Yes, he’s a strong moral authority, alright.”

  She groaned. “Don’t be sarcastic. It doesn’t suit you. Stuart is worried. That’s why he called me this morning.”

  “He should have been nursing his hangover instead of meddling in my affairs.”

  “Patrick,” she sighed softly. “We’re your family.”

  He pursed his lips, staring straight ahead. “Then why haven’t you inquired about my wife?” he asked coldly. “Aren’t you curious what she’s like? Is it really more important to berate me over the phone?”

  “You’re deliberately misunderstanding me now,” she said in a low voice.

  “Instead of attacking me, you could have asked how I’m doing, or if I’m happy, Barbara. I’d have appreciated that so much more than your screeching right off the bat.” Even though he knew he was giving her new ammunition, he added grumpily, “Peter was the same this morning, berating me as soon as he heard. I was close to throwing him out of my office. He wouldn’t stop pushing me toward a prenup.”

  When he heard her draw a scandalized breath, he hissed, “Don’t you dare, Barbara. Don’t you get started!”

  “Okay, I won’t,” she declared hollowly. “But from sister to brother, and just being rational here, Patrick, let me ask you calmly—I’m not trying to be domineering or overbearing: Wouldn’t it be the sensible thing to do, drawing up a prenup? Even James and I have one.”

  He ground his teeth. “Thank you, your objection is duly noted.”

  “And?”

  “How are my nephews doing?”

  “Patrick!”

  “Is Hamilton still having trouble with that little girl biting him in daycare?” he asked casually, not acknowledging his sister’s protest. “And how’s Baby Scott doing?”

  “Alright,” she ground out in a show of mock patience, “let’s talk about my children! You asked for it! To answer your question, no, Hamilton has not been having girl troubles recently, because the damned daycare has been closed with a lice infestation for an entire week. Scott, meanwhile, is teething and, thus, being as insufferable as you!”

  Whoa.

  Suddenly Patrick had an idea of why his sister was so snappish. If she had to entertain a recalcitrant three-year-old at home all day while trying to placate a teething seven-month-old, it was safe to assume she was stressed out.

  “James is fine, too, before you can ask,” she barreled on. “And I’m fine. And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to actually learn something about the woman you made my sister-in-law mere weeks after meeting her!”

  Even as she roared, he somehow he felt sorry for her now. Ignoring the reproach in his sister’s voice, he sighed. “Your sister-in-law’s name is Amy,” he began conversationally. “She’s twenty-five and grew up in North Carolina. Then she went to college to study art, and she’s been living in Rome for about a year, painting and doing guided tours on the side.” Then he ramped it up a bit, adding in an exaggeratedly sweet voice, “She’s blond, blue-eyed, and about five-foot-five. Now, I’ll tell you her life story, starting with kindergarten—”

  “Okay, enough,” Barbara murmured. “I get the message.” She sighed. “She sounds … nice.”

  Patrick almost laughed over how reluctant Barbara sounded to admit that. “She is nice, Barbara. She’s amazing. I’d say she’s the most decent person I know. Otherwise I wouldn’t have married her.”

  “After knowing her three weeks.”

  “Exactly,” he said in a tone that indicated the topic was closed. “She’s my wife. I love her, and I don’t want anyone to meet her with prejudice or suspicion. You’ll just have to trust that I possess enough reason to have made the right decision when I asked her to be my wife.”

  Barbara was silent and then uttered an indecisive laugh. “Does that mean you’ve turned into a romantic all of a sudden? You, of all people?”

  “Why do you sound so incredulous?” he asked lightly. Discussing his love life with his sister was not something he wanted to do on a regular basis, but several buttons on his desk phone were blinking insistently, reminding him of all the work he had to do. He briefly closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. Even talking like this with Barbara was preferable to all that.

  “Well, listen to you,” his sister said with obvious amusement. “It’s not like you were ever on a quest for the woman to marry before.”

  “Nor did I plan to fly to Rome and bring back a wife,” he admitted freely, “but then I met Amy …”

  “If Mom hears you waxing romantic like that—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He didn’t want to hear her make fun at his expense. Plus, he knew there were more important things to do right now. “Listen, Barbara, why don’t you come for dinner tonight and meet Amy? And bring James, of course.”

  “James is on a business trip,” she replied, obviously annoyed. “He’s left me stranded with the two monsters again. But if I can get a sitter for the boys, I’ll come by.”

  “You can bring the kids, too,” he suggested. “Stuart rarely ever sees them.”

  “Jesus, Patrick.” She sounded horrified a
t the prospect. “Grant me two hours of peace, will you? I love my children, but I’d like to meet your Amy without a screaming infant in my arms and a complaining three-year old tugging at my legs.”

  “Alright,” he said, nodding at Mrs. McDough, who stuck her head in the door and waved a file folder. “I’ll see you tonight then, Barbara.”

  When he hung up, he grabbed the sandwich he’d abandoned for lunch and took a bite. Three seconds later, he took the next call.

  Chapter 12

  Seeing Patrick in a suit was an unfamiliar sight for Amy.

  When he came home, she was sitting on the couch in his private living room, watching TV. At first she gave a start, thinking a stranger had entered the room. It took her a moment to recognize her husband, who looked exhausted.

  The black suit, formal tie, and elegant shoes made him look like a real businessman. Since she had only seen him in jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers in Rome, which had made him look like a college student, his current outfit managed to bring home the fact that Patrick was really an adult. It might sound silly, but in this get-up, she could see the successful businessman in him, which had so far been a vague idea to her at best.

  He dropped his briefcase, kissed her enthusiastically, and then proceeded to moan that he hadn’t been able to eat anything the whole day because the phone had been driving him crazy. Amy listened with a smile, while he all but tore his clothes off to get more comfortable.

  After failing to find sleep last night, she had finally fallen asleep in the early morning. And she hadn’t woken up when he left for work. She had missed him during the day, not least of all because she was on her own in this giant house and didn’t know how to act.

  Leaving his rooms and going down to the first floor had cost her quite a bit of effort. Thankfully, all the workers she had encountered had been absolutely amiable. In the cavernous kitchen, she had found a genial cook, who’d prepared an opulent breakfast for her. But Amy hadn’t been able to eat, because the tension was just too overwhelming.

  And then her hungover brother-in-law had appeared at the table and given her a curious look, which made her appetite vanish completely. It was only the expectant gaze of the good-natured cook that pushed Amy to munch on half a pancake and gulp down a glass of orange juice.