by Tara Lain
“A market value that will go up. Mrs. Lord only wants what’s rightfully hers. She invested fifteen years in Mr. Lord’s success. She continues to assume the primary burden of raising their children. She should profit from the increase in the company’s value.” Ms. Franklin forced a smile.
“But Mr. Lord is happy to assume the total responsibility for raising the children. He’s made that clear.”
Taylor sat back and wiped her hands across her arms like bugs had suddenly attacked.
Franklin leaned closer across the shiny conference table. “And Mrs. Lord will never let him have that influence—in view of his lifestyle.”
Braden’s thighs tensed as he forced himself not to jump across the table to strangle Taylor and the lawyer.
Percy leaned back. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that the value of Lord and Kendrick is built entirely on Mr. Lord’s skill and reputation.”
Silence. The oddly formless threat lay in the middle of the table. Franklin stared at Percy. Taylor’s mouth opened, closed. Then she raised a lip. “Yeah, but he loves that fucking company so much, he’ll never leave it. Besides, if he did, how would he support his precious children?”
An hour later, still shaking, Braden walked back into his office. He’d left Percy to listen to whatever other bullshit they wanted to pull out of their asses. After grabbing a quick salmon sandwich at Crystal Cove, he’d walked by the ocean while eating it and tried to replace thinking with chewing. Not too much luck.
He flopped into his desk chair. Oh God, imagining Taylor going home to Mireille and Jo-Jo made him weak in the knees. Not just because she was free to spew her crap all over them, but because—somehow she made him nervous. She’d never been really stable, but he’d been there. He and Elena, the housekeeper. Fortunately, Elena still took care of the kids. He’d made sure of that. He even paid her directly so Taylor couldn’t cut her salary. His fingers itched to call her, but Taylor might find out he’d called. No use making her madder. He’d wait until later, after Taylor left for her usual three times a week “girls’ drinky poo nights,” as she called them.
“Bray?”
He looked up. To say Doug looked concerned would be like calling a pit bull’s bite a nibble. “Yeah.”
“I just got a call from Taylor’s lawyer.”
“Hell, she didn’t waste any time.”
“They want to review our books. Something about valuation. We gave you all the financials when you were figuring out the settlement.”
“And I’ve ponied up more than half. But she wants me to pay a percentage of escalating value.”
“Shit, Braden, the board wants her out of our lives.”
“She’s trying to take the kids.”
Doug blew out his breath. “I’m sorry about this, Bray, but I’ll be damned if I want that woman meddling in our company. She’s got no right to stock, so pay her what she wants and get rid of her.”
“I’m trying.”
He frowned. “Try harder.”
Braden flicked his eyes up and met Doug’s. “Don’t push me, Dougall.”
Doug’s ruddy skin paled a little. “Sorry. I’m just upset.”
“That makes two of us.”
Doug nodded and walked out, leaving the door open as always. Braden watched him go. A familiar slim figure went powering past his door. Braden stood. “Ian!”
Ian stopped, looked around, saw Braden through the glass wall, smiled, and retraced his steps to the door. “Hi. You rang?”
Braden smiled back. A first for the day. “Uh, could I ask your advice on something?”
“Hey, Braden Lord needs advice from Ian Carney. I’m there, baby.” He laughed. “Got a parking structure you can’t handle?”
“Uh, would you close the door?”
“Oh, sure.” He pulled the glass door shut, leaving them in a soundproof fishbowl. But hell, better than nothing. Braden pointed to his guest chair.
Ian dropped the kidding. “How can I help?” He sat.
“You know the fund-raiser we’re going to on Thursday?”
“Yep. I was pretty shocked to be invited.”
“You made a big impression on Audrey.”
“Can’t imagine why, but I’m sure that’s not your question.”
“Right.” Braden picked up a glass unicorn from his desk and turned it in his hands.
Ian grinned. “That’s either a present from Mireille, or you’re even gayer than you said.”
“What? Oh yeah.” He grinned. “Mireille. His name is Fillindoodle. Name also compliments of my daughter. He’s here to protect me from all monsters and evildoers.” He set down the glass animal. “So, you know how I went on this date?”
Ian’s brows pulled together just a flash, but he nodded.
“I was thinking of inviting Yancey to the fund-raiser.”
Ian stared at his hands. “Might be good. Sort of a quiet way to come out.”
“Yeah, that was my thought. But my wife is really trying to prove that, as a single gay man, I’m not fit to have even joint custody of my children.”
A muscle jumped in Ian’s jaw. “Man, that pisses me off.”
“Me too. I pretty much wanted to murder her lawyer today. But I’m wondering if maybe it’s the better part of valor to not push the whole dating issue until things are resolved?”
Ian leaned back with a scowl. “I hate to let somebody with that attitude win.” He hissed air through his teeth. “But hell, you may be right. I mean, you don’t have to come with a date, do you?”
“No, of course not.”
He shrugged. “Go with your gut on this one, I’d say.”
“Yeah. Thanks so much. Are you bringing a date?”
He shook his head with another frown. “I was hoping my boy—uh, Rico would be back by then, but it’s not looking good.” He snorted. “But Ted asked me.”
“Ted Miller?”
“Yeah.” He stood, his rangy body showing how jeans and a white shirt ought to look. “I gathered he didn’t get an invite and was just trying to find a way to go.” He wrinkled his nose. “Maybe I’m impugning his honor.” He started to step toward the door, then stopped. “Oh, was there anything else?”
“How’s Anderson?”
“Totally pissed that I’ve taken him from his chosen beloved. Otherwise fine.” He waved a hand. “See you Thursday.”
“You can leave the door open.” Braden smiled again. For the first time today, he just might be in a decent mood.
Chapter Eight
Man, this collar’s tight. Ian walked down the wide hallway toward the hotel ballroom in his rented tux, nodding at beautifully dressed people moving past him in both directions. He wasn’t usually shy or uncomfortable in groups, but arriving alone at an event of this social stature made him shiver. Just pretend you belong here, Carney.
A long table staffed by several women of different ages and ethnicities stood outside the wide double doors flanked by huge sprays of flowers and balloons. Here goes. Ian stepped up to the table. “Hello.”
A woman with a name badge that said Akua flashed him a smile. “May I get your badge for you?” Her voice rang with music.
“Uh, yes. I’m Ian Carney. I was invited by Audrey Romign.”
“Of course, Mr. Carney. Your information is right here.” She handed him a slim white envelope with his name on it, in calligraphy no less. “It will tell you your table number and provide you with a name badge, if you wouldn’t mind wearing it?”
He peered at the badge. More calligraphy. Ian Carney. Lord and Kendrick. Hell, he might wear it to bed. “Thanks so much.”
“Enjoy yourself.”
“You too. I mean—” He grinned. She knew what he meant.
Inside the ballroom, the crowd surged toward the bars. Not much chance for him. Nobody he knew in sight. A series of long tables toward the back of the ballroom displayed something, so he wandered toward them. Wow. The tables were divided into three sections, and each one showcased an entrepreneur
ial effort of a woman from some remote part of the world. The one he saw first described an IT service set up for women and by women with its home office in Thailand. The next two displays featured textile-making in Africa, then goat-raising in Myanmar. If he had any money, he’d have pledged it to these impressive projects.
A hand gripped his shoulder, and he turned to find Audrey Romign—the lady herself. She smiled. “Having fun?”
“I just got here, but I sure am impressed with these programs.”
“We’ll have to load you up some summer and haul you off to Cambodia to build new housing.”
“I’d love that, actually, but I probably better graduate first.”
“So why don’t you have a drink?”
He pointed to the line that stretched about fifteen deep. “I’m not that committed to alcohol.”
“Glad to hear it.” She waggled her hand at a guy who appeared to be a waiter, then made a back-and-forth motion with her finger between herself and Ian. The waiter instantly walked behind the bar, grabbed two full glasses of champagne, and started toward them.
Ian laughed. “Okay, did you go to Hogwarts to learn that trick? Wingardium champagniosa?”
“Ah yes. I’m the finest witch of my generation.” She accepted the glasses from the waiter and handed one to Ian. “Thank you so much.” The waiter walked away.
Ian took a sip. “I’ve had more champagne in the last two weeks than the preceding two years.”
“Good. We should all have the chance to take champagne for granted.” She sipped a little and looked at him through her thick eyelashes. “So, I’ve asked that you work on my building.”
Ian sucked in air, which snorted bubbly up his nose, and he coughed.
Audrey laughed. “I didn’t mean you should inhale it.”
“Uh, wow. I don’t know what to say. I’m honored. But you know I’m a newbie. I’m not a licensed architect yet.” He grinned. “I’m really good at parking places.”
“I think you’re going to be good at more than that, and I’m a big believer in getting there first. I know Braden will design my headquarters—after all, that’s what I came to Lord and Kendrick for—but I’ve requested that you work with him.”
Ian’s mouth would barely shut. “Holy crap. Excuse me.”
She grinned. “I consider this a win-win. You get to learn directly from Braden. Education is one of my things. And I get the benefit of your new, shiny vision first, before it costs me a million dollars.”
He shook his head. “If I were just a tiny bit gayer, I’d cry. I promise you, I will later. How can I thank you for believing in me so much? I don’t even know why you do. I mean, we just met.”
“I heard Max say you remind him of Braden. Max ought to know.”
“Wow. Just wow.”
She raised her head. “And speak of the angel.”
Ian followed her gaze. Braden was walking through the entrance to the ballroom. Tall and perfectly tailored in his midnight blue tux, he could have been born in the damned thing. Best of all, beside him Jo-Jo looked just as handsome in his own formalwear, and holding Braden’s hand was the angel indeed. Mireille wore a floor-length gown of pale green, decorated with some kind of flowers at her waist and on the shoulders.
Mireille looked up, smiled so big it popped dimples everywhere, and cried, “Daddy, look. It’s Mr. Carney.” At which point she extricated herself from Braden’s hand and raced across the edge of the dance floor to Ian, who knelt to meet her. Mireille threw her arms around his neck.
Okay, another wow. He picked her up and gave her a spin. She chortled, then looked at him somberly. “I don’t suppose you were able to bring Anderson, were you?”
He shook his head seriously. “We couldn’t find a tuxedo to fit him.”
She slapped a hand over her mouth and giggled.
He looked at Audrey, who was observing the interaction with a small smile. “Have you met Miss Mireille Lord?”
“I haven’t had the pleasure.”
Ian nodded at Mireille, still holding her in his arms. “Mireille, may I present Ms. Audrey Romign. This is her event.”
Mireille wiggled, and he put her down. She seriously extended her hand to Audrey. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Ms. Romign. This is a lovely affair.”
That Audrey managed to keep a straight face attested to her excellence at poker and business negotiations. “I’m delighted to meet you, Mireille. Your father is designing my new business headquarters.”
“Excellent. You must be very excited.”
Ian snorted and covered it with a cough. Mireille gave him the one-eyebrow evaluation.
Audrey replied, “Yes, I am.”
Braden and Jo-Jo now stood beside them. Braden looked at his daughter. “Are you trying to up my fees again, Mireille?”
“Daddy!”
Braden smiled at Audrey. “Sorry we’re a little late. Mireille had to readjust my tie—several times.”
Mireille stared up at him. “He simply insists on making it too stiff.”
Braden turned the deep blues on Ian. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Holy crap, he got to work with Braden Lord on a building. Considering that just looking at the guy about gave him a heart attack, that might or might not be a good thing.
“So, have we found our tables?” Braden glanced at his ticket. “I think Jo-Jo might appreciate a roll and butter.”
Audrey waved at someone in the corner of the room. “I made sure you were all together. Go find your seats, and I’ll see you in a bit.”
Braden grinned and took Mireille’s hand. “Thanks, Audrey. Onward, troops.”
They found their table. Ian bowed at the waist and pulled out a chair for Mireille, who rewarded him with a giggle rather than the eyebrow. He sat next to her. “Will you be my date?”
“I’d be honored.”
“No, the honor is all mine.” Grabbing her roll from her bread plate, he proceeded to butter it and present it with a flourish. She laughed again. He glanced up to find Braden watching them intently.
“She’s going to get a warped idea of how attentive she can expect her dates to be.”
Ian shrugged and gazed at Braden from under his eyebrows. “Not my job to lower her expectations.”
“Obviously.”
“Hey there.” Max stepped up to the table, escorting an attractive, rather opulent woman with a wide, pleasant smile. “Quite the family scene.” He turned to the woman. “Honey, this is Ian Carney, our intern I’ve told you about. You already know everyone else.” He looked at Ian with just a hint of appraisal in his eyes. “Ian, my wife, Daisy.”
Ian stood, pushing back his chair, and shook hands with Daisy. “So happy to meet you.”
Mireille announced, “He’s my date.”
Daisy dimpled. “Excellent choice in young men, Mireille.”
“And his cat is my babysitter.”
She laughed, but before she could ask anything, Doug Kendrick arrived with a woman who qualified as the opposite of Daisy—thin and slow to smile. “Hi. Sorry we’re late, I—” He noticed Ian and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, hello, Ian.”
“Mr. Kendrick.” May as well leap in. He stood and extended his hand to the woman. “Hi. I’m Ian Carney.”
She glanced at his paw like it might be carrying Ebola but finally shook it. “I’m Sophia Kendrick.”
They all sat to an awkward moment of silence.
Daisy Flynn took up the gauntlet. “So, Mireille, you were about to tell us how you happened to have a cat for a babysitter.”
Sophia frowned. “Cat? That’s ridiculous.”
Mireille gave her the eyebrow. “No, ma’am, Anderson Cooper is my babysitter.”
“What?” Sophia looked around like someone was playing a joke just on her.
Ian glanced at Braden, who definitely wasn’t opening his mouth. What did he want them to know? “Uh, Mireille met my cat, Anderson Cooper, on the beach in Laguna, and when her babysitter cancelled at the last moment, she requested t
hat he babysit—with my supervision.”
Braden’s eyes flicked to Doug and then returned to stare at his water glass.
Sophia said, “Your supervision?”
Think fast. “Actually, I was simply providing licensed driver backup to Joseph, who is more than qualified to sit with Mireille.” He smiled. “Right, Jo-Jo?”
“Correct.” He looked at his dad pleadingly. “Do you think we’ll eat soon?”
Braden nodded. “Yes, and if we don’t, we’ll escape and head for the nearest cheeseburger.”
“Fleekin’.”
Sophia turned and stared daggers at Braden. “I’m not sure Taylor would be delighted with your choice of babysitters, Bray.”
Ian sighed very quietly. Oh shit.
Braden’s smile came nowhere near his eyes. “Shit happens, Sophia. Ian’s a responsible adult and was kind enough to step in and provide care for the kids so I could go to an, uh, important engagement.”
Mireille nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Kendrick, Mr. Carney makes excellent pizza, and he has a most extraordinary cat.”
She didn’t smile. “I’m sure.”
The waiters started doling out the rubber chicken at that moment, but Sophia Kendrick was clearly salivating to get to a phone and call Braden’s ex. Oh man, apologies in order. But what the hell else could he have done? Forget it—for now.
They ate, and Ian listened to Braden, Doug, and Max talk shop. Daisy and Sophia didn’t seem to have a lot in common, so not too much girl talk happened there. Daisy gave him a smile. “So Max tells me you’re an intern, Ian.”
“Yes.” He nodded.
“And you go to SC?”
“Um-hm.” Could they switch subjects? “Do you work outside the home, Daisy?”
“Yes, I’m an employment consultant, aka a headhunter.” She grinned.
“What about you, Mrs. Kendrick?” Was it pointed that he didn’t call her by her first name?
She looked up from pushing the chicken around on her plate. “What? Oh no. Being a partner’s wife has so many responsibilities, it’s a full-time job, really.”
“I can imagine.”