by Liz Talley
“Good,” he said, looking at the brunette as if he didn’t appreciate the implication of what a little chat was.
“Fine,” Creighton said, heading for the elevators with staccato click-clacks of her heeled boots.
Mary Paige shifted on the slick leather as the woman walked by, then slid right off the chair onto the floor in a graceless heap.
All three people in the lobby turned and looked at her.
“Oh, are you all right?” Cheryl squeaked, hurrying toward her.
The man named Henry—but not Malcolm Henry—got there first.
Mary Paige looked at him standing over her. His brow was furrowed and he reminded her of how her younger brother had once looked at a baby bird that had fallen from the pecan tree in front of their house—confused, alarmed and sympathetic. She knew she was the color of her sweater—a vibrant fuchsia—and could do nothing other than laugh. Falling twice in twenty-four hours? Had to be a record.
Her laughter seemed to really confuse him.
He glanced at Cheryl, who pressed her lips together as if she were afraid she’d join in the giggling, and asked, “Who is this?”
Mary Paige swallowed her laughter and struggled to fold her legs under her, praying the man wouldn’t spot her modern version of a girdle. Her heels failed to make traction so she looked even more awkward and her skirt rode even farther up her thighs.
Damn it.
His gaze zeroed in on the stretchy nude fabric, cutting into her white legs—yeah, her summer tan was long gone—and she saw the question in his gray eyes. He didn’t say anything as he made eye contact with her and extended a hand. She grabbed hold and let him haul her to her feet.
Again he asked, “Who are you?”
Creighton wore a bemused smile as she pointed to Mary Paige and said, “I think that’s your ten o’clock.”
Mary Paige pulled her hand away and jerked the skirt down where it should be—just above the knee. The elevator opened and Creighton gave them all a little finger wiggle and a cat-full-of-cream smile as she glided inside. The doors slid closed as Mary Paige, Cheryl and the grumpy sex god watched.
Mary Paige smoothed her hands against the shiny fabric of the chair and tried to smile, hopefully distracting him from the fact she’d wallowed like a sow on the floor of the lobby. “Um, slick chair, huh?”
The man bent and scooped up her checkbook, tube of lip gloss and cell-phone charger that had spilled from her purse when she’d taken her epic tumble. He passed them to her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She wasn’t sure if it was legitimate concern or more of a legal thing. “Yeah, my dignity’s a little bruised, but otherwise, I can walk.”
His stormy eyes perused her and it made her feel squirmy, not necessarily in a pervy way, but more in a crackly way. The man may have been fierce-looking, but he was abnormally handsome. If not a little scary. It wasn’t his size because he was a little over six feet, but it was the way his confidence oozed. No, not oozed. Conquered. The man conquered a room, demanding attention by his sheer presence.
She stuck out a clammy hand. “Hi, I’m Mary Paige Gentry. I’m to meet with Mr. Malcolm Henry, Jr.”
The man took her hand. “So you are our ten o’clock?”
She shrugged. How was she supposed to know who his ten-o’clock appointment was?
His touch was warm and dry, which was good considering her hand had started sweating. Coming here wearing a too-tight skirt for a meeting about two million dollars then sprawling onto the floor and showing her “light” support girdle didn’t inspire serenity in a gal. She waited for an introduction.
A little tremor went through him—subtle but noticeable—before he dropped her hand. “I’m Brennan Henry, Malcolm’s grandson. I’m also the VP of acquisitions, and I’ll be sitting in on this meeting. If you’ll follow me, I’ll see if I can find where my grandfather is hiding, and we can get down to brass tacks regarding this…venture.”
She nodded. He didn’t sound very pleased about this…venture, but she wasn’t so sure about it, either. When Mr. Henry had helped her from the icy pavement—thus establishing a habit of Henry men hauling up clumsy blondes who fell on their asses—he’d explained his idea for bringing the true meaning of the holiday season to the city. And it had sounded sweet but implausible.
After all, how could she be the Spirit of Christmas?
She was an accountant…not even a certified one at that. She had nothing special that would mark her as the epitome of, well, anything. She had blond hair that she highlighted herself every two months to save a buck, she shopped at bargain stores and grew her own herbs under a growing light. And not those kind of herbs. Basil, thyme and rosemary. She skipped to the end of books to find out if there was a happily ever after before she read them and her bottom was a little too big for her frame. She was plain ol’ Mary Paige from Crosshatch, Louisiana. Well, not even Crosshatch, considering she’d grown up on an organic farm five miles from the town-limit sign.
So how was she supposed to inspire the citizens of the city to be kinder, gentler and more loving as they enjoyed the holiday season?
Uh, yeah. Sounded like a really weird idea, but for two million dollars—money that could help more people than herself—Mary Paige supposed she could at the very least hear the man out.
Brennan held open the door from which he’d emerged minutes ago.
Well, at least he was a gentleman.
She slid by, praying she’d remembered to put on deodorant that morning. She really couldn’t recall, and she could feel the anxiety seeping from her pores. Like literally.
“This way,” he said, his voice all rich and yummy, like a vanilla cupcake—a particular favorite of hers and one of the reasons her bottom was a little jigglier than it should be. He might be aloof but his voice had a warm timbre, the kind made for reading bedtime stories. Yes, naughty bedtime stories.
She dashed the thought of Brennan in her bedroom from her mind and followed him to a room labeled Boardroom B, where Mr. Malcolm Henry, Jr. stood holding something aloft. Below him sat an adorable red dachshund, balancing on his back legs with front paws waving in begging fashion. Mr. Henry tossed the dog something, which it caught neatly, then turned to them with a sparkle in his bright blue eyes. “Miss Gentry, my own sweet Spirit of Christmas. You came.”
The older man looked much different than he had last night. The dapper navy suit with a whimsical red bow tie complemented his tanned skin, and the cordovan loafers had to be Italian—only because that’s what they always were on the wealthy men in the books she’d snuck from her mother’s bedside table.
“Good morning, Mr. Henry,” she said, moving close to the little dog looking up at the older man with expectant, beaded black eyes. “What a precious pup.”
She bent and held out a hand and the dog trotted to her, sniffed her hand and allowed her to pet him.
“Her name is Izzy,” Mr. Henry said, bending down and bestowing a kiss on the animal’s head. “She’s a good girl, aren’t you?”
A full minute was spent in admiration of Izzy, who rolled over and gave them her belly to scratch.
“I love dogs,” Mary Paige said, dutifully scratching Izzy’s satiny chest. “I had a golden retriever growing up. Toby was the best dog ever. He’s buried under our pink dogwood because he always loved that tree best.”
“Ahem.” The sound came from above them.
Mary Paige stopped prattling and glanced at Brennan Henry.
He appeared disgusted. “Do you two mind?”
“Sorry,” she said, standing and tugging her skirt. Again. “Never could resist a sweet face.”
Brennan pulled a chair out from the table for her as his grandfather headed around to the armchair at one end. The dog loyally trotted after him, curling at his feet with an adorable doggy sigh.
“Brennan isn’t fond of dogs,” Mr. Henry said with a secret smile.
“Well, you wouldn’t be, either, if you’d been humiliated at your tenth birt
hday party by a clown’s dog.”
Mr. Henry laughed. “That dog went to town on your leg, didn’t he?”
Brennan glowered. “I don’t think we need to bring that up. This is a meeting, right?”
Mary Paige sat—glad the chair had armrests to cling to—and hid a smile as she pulled hand sanitizer out of her purse and squirted some in her palm. She rubbed them together as Mr. Henry retold the story of his meeting Mary Paige, to which his grandson said a grand sum of…nothing.
As he’d finished talking about the check, the boardroom door opened and an older woman wearing an ivory suit entered. She carried several folders and a travel mug. “Apologies for being late. Don’s barking up my tree on these reports.”
The woman set her things opposite Mary Paige and held out a hand. “Hi, I’m Ellen Bivens, vice president of communications and community relations.”
Mary Paige shook her hand and introduced herself, glad to have another woman to break up the testosterone oozing from one end of the boardroom table. Ellen looked to be around fifty years in age with a long face and quick smile. Mary Paige liked her on sight.
Mr. Henry cracked his knuckles. “Okay, time to talk turkey. This young woman is exactly the kind of person we wanted for this campaign. We’re pulling out the stops for this—TV, radio and print. Hell, we’re even using that social media everyone’s talking about. It’s time to bring goodness back to Christmas. Rip down the sparkly tinsel and self-serving commercialism. I want the world to know that Henry’s embraces the spirit of service as part of the season.”
Ellen nodded, flipping through a folder. “This campaign is brilliant. With so many other companies embracing ‘me,’ it’s a good strategy to focus on this season being a time of sharing with others, reveling in the spirit of community, a time—”
“For making lots of money,” Brennan added.
Mary Paige glared at the sexy grandson with his fingers tented in front of him.
What an ass.
“Excuse me,” Mary Paige said, scooting her chair back. “If this is only about making money, I’ll have to decline.”
Brennan cocked his head. “Decline?”
Mr. Henry waved a hand. “Rest assured, dear girl. This is not about the bottom line, but the greater good. It’s about what you showed an old bum who had a need. It’s about the milk of human kindness.”
“But the bottom line is important,” his grandson persisted.
Mary Paige directed her attention to the ass. “I’m not interested in tricking people so you can make a buck. It’s deceitful to pretend the holiday is about showing love to your fellow man when you have a different motivation behind it. I can’t imagine something so…”
His eyes clouded.
“Well, let’s just say, I’ll not be part of it.” She turned her attention to Mr. Henry as she rose. Something about Brennan made her uncomfortable. Not just his concern for the almighty buck, but his distaste for his grandfather’s plan. She could feel cynicism sheet off him in waves.
And maybe part of her discomfort was she was attracted to the man…a man who was about as far away from her usual type as she could get. Scary. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Henry, but I’m not interested in being the Spirit of Christmas for Henry Department Stores.”
Brennan stood politely, ever the Southern gentleman, a mixture of triumph and relief on his face. “So you’ll be returning the check, then?”
CHAPTER THREE
BRENNAN WATCHED THE blonde with interest. What would she say at the thought of handing that two-million-dollar check back to his grandfather? Sure, she could buy a man a cup of coffee, but anyone could have done that…even an ax murderer. Here was the litmus test of her character.
Mary Paige shot him a look that curled something in his gut, and he felt the way he had when he’d disappointed someone he cared about. Except he didn’t care about this woman. So why did she make him feel like scum? His job was to take care of his grandfather and this company, and that included safeguarding the bottom line. Lord, she made it sound like it was wrong to pursue profit.
“Of course I’ll give the money back,” she said, picking up her purse. “I certainly wouldn’t keep it if I couldn’t uphold my end of the deal.”
“No, please wait, Miss Gentry,” his grandfather said, standing and waving a gentling hand in her direction. “I think you’ve gotten off on the wrong foot with my grandson. Brennan doesn’t mean to come across so harshly. He’s looking out—”
“For this company.” Brennan gave his grandfather a nod that said he could fight his own battles. “I’m sorry if that offends you, but we’re a business and thus responsible to our shareholders and employees to, you know, make a profit—nasty word, though it is.”
She hesitated and he wondered if this was what she’d been after in the first place. Was she faking do-gooder or was she sincere? He couldn’t tell. He’d never been great at reading women. His grandfather alone had raised him and there hadn’t been a steady female influence in his life, so he didn’t always trust the fairer sex. The women he was accustomed to were soothed by pretty words and shiny baubles…and would never give back two million dollars without a fight.
“Please, sit. Let’s try this again.” It was his one acquiescence to his grandfather. He didn’t like the idea of this whole Spirit of Christmas thing, but after hearing Ellen’s take, the idea had rolled around in his head, carving a comfortable nook in his thoughts of the image the company should present and, yes, the profit generated from the way they positioned themselves.
Ellen smiled. “You’re obviously a good soul, Mary Paige, so I know corporate considerations can be, well, conflicting in their intent.”
Mary Paige nodded. “I’m an accountant, Ellen. I understand the concept.”
An accountant? His mind flashed to her tangle of arms and legs in the lobby…and that interesting piece of Lycra. Something about her wasn’t businesslike and he couldn’t see her chained behind a desk tapping on an enormous calculator.
“Oh, really?” Ellen said, eyeing Mary Paige. “Very interesting.”
Mary Paige shifted her gaze from Ellen to the dog. “Listen, I see what you’re trying to do, Mr. Henry, and it’s admirable. It’s actually a really sweet idea, but I’m not sure I’m comfortable in the limelight.”
His grandfather smiled. “Don’t worry, dear. Brennan will be right beside you every step of the way. We’re not throwing you out front to tap-dance. We want the face of MBH beside you, showing all of the country we here in New Orleans believe in good works and good cheer.”
The hell Brennan would be right beside her. He wasn’t sure what the old man had up his sleeve, but if he thought Brennan would gallop all over this city with a silly grin on his face escorting the clumsy accountant as she put on a dog and pony show spreading Christmas cheer, he was certifiable.
In fact, maybe Brennan needed to pursue that possibility. Testing the old man to certify he was missing a few spokes on his wheel.
“Him?” Mary Paige pointed to Brennan.
“Once upon a time Brennan loved Christmas and his goal in life wasn’t to frighten small children.”
Ellen snorted.
“I’m not interested in promo stunts,” Brennan said. “You like that sort of thing, Grandfather, so you do it.”
“If you want to be the next CEO,” his grandfather said, “the public needs to see you as the face of the company. Not me. Besides, I have a full calendar.”
“And I don’t? I’m trying to run this company, and I don’t think the board of directors would appreciate the future CEO gallivanting around trimming trees and singing carols. I need to maintain a stable public image. This is ridiculous.”
And it was. He was not babysitting his grandfather’s project. If the old man wanted a Spirit of Christmas campaign, fine, but it had nothing to do with Brennan. Besides, it was illogical to spring it on him five weeks before Christmas. It felt a day late, a dollar short and very, very nutty.
“I don�
��t see how standing next to Scrooge here and faking merry is going to help you spread Christmas cheer.” The light from the window caught Mary Paige’s hair, creating a golden curtain around her pleasant face. He really liked the wholesome thing she had going on. She didn’t wear a lot of makeup or any heavy perfumes. When she’d passed him earlier, she’d smelled light and clean, like fresh laundry and sunshine. Like some crap on a commercial…but, he’d liked it.
And she’d just called him Scrooge.
“It will do more than you know, Mary Paige. Ol’ Scrooge here—” his grandfather gestured toward Brennan “—needs to be a poster boy for Henry’s in this city. I’ve seen him put on a smile when it behooves, and it need behoove him now if he wishes to move on to the large chair in the biggest office. The success of this company is not in the bottom line, but in the values we embrace and show to the world. I’ll let it be known here and now that we have genuine concern for our fellow man. If that is the focus, it trickles down into every square inch of every store across the country.”
Brennan had to mull that one over. Maybe his grandfather had a point. Sometimes it was hard for Brennan to see the forest for the bottom line. His goal was profit, but that alone would not sustain the company.
“I want you to understand, Miss Gentry, that this Spirit of Christmas campaign is not about making more money, but rather bringing something back I’ve been missing for so many years in my own life. It has been too long since I’ve felt the wonder of kindness and the generosity of my fellow man. I know change starts with me. I am looking at the man in the mirror each morning and expecting something more.”
Brennan glanced at Mary Paige and he could see the cogwheels rotating through the windows of those chocolate-brown eyes.
“How can I help?” she asked. “By showing up at events wearing my best smile? How is that going to make anyone feel any more charitable toward a fellow human being?”
“I have a hunch about you, my dear.” The confidence in Malcolm’s expression seemed to say he knew something no one else in the room did. “A very strong hunch about what you can accomplish in even the hardest of hearts.” He then looked at Brennan with a sort of gleam in his eye.
