Ice Cold Boss (A Paradise Shores Standalone Book 2)

by Olivia Hayle

  Faye sighs and turns off the heat on the stove. Bacon crackles in the pan. “Fine. I woke up about an hour and a half ago. Is that precise enough or do you want an exact time stamp?”

  I smile into my coffee cup. “That’ll do.”

  “It took me forever to find a whisk, you know.”

  “I’m sure. It’s a new kitchen for you.”

  She pushes a tendril of hair back. “We should still be able to get an hour of work in. Honestly, Henry, I think we’re very close to being finished. You should be able to commission a new model next week with time to spare.”

  I knew that already. “Excellent.”

  “Would you pass me the spatula? The one in the sink?”

  I hand it to her and watch in silence as she handles the stove like a pro. This blanket of domesticity wasn’t part of my masterplan, coming here together this weekend… but I’m finding that I like it.

  “We should talk about this,” I say.

  “About what?”

  “Last night.”

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  “You wound me, Faye.”

  She looks up at me, and as she finally meets my eye, a beautiful flush creeps over her cheeks. “All right,” she says softly. “Let’s talk about it, then.”

  And all of a sudden, I have no idea what to say.

  I want to hear her say that she doesn’t regret it—that we’re still us—that embarrassment has never belonged in the space between us. I want to tell her other things too, things that are buried deep, about how much I like her. That I’ve been avoiding relationships for so long, but with her, the hassle doesn’t seem like a hassle at all.

  But that’s not what comes out.

  “Guess I won the point, huh.”

  Faye rolls her eyes and adds yet another pancake to the stack. She’s making enough food to feed an army, not that my brothers will object. “Yes, I guess you did.”

  And after that, there’s really nothing more to say.

  We work in near silence for the next hour. I glance over at her, but she’s bent over her laptop. Our only conversation topic is the opera house.

  As I rotate the opera house in the digital system, I’m struck again by its beautiful simplicity. It’s the best thing I’ve ever designed. The jury might not choose it—an outcome I haven’t let myself consider much—but I’ll still be proud of it. It’s been a way to connect with the reason I chose architecture in the first place.

  I glance over at Faye. She’s biting her lip, a look of deep concentration on her beautiful features. She’s taught me that too, I think. Her unbridled passion for architecture shamed my own lack of it, when we first met. It’s not the structure that’s rekindled it—it’s her. She showed me the way back to my love of work.

  Rhys and Parker arrive just after eleven. Faye smiles and tells them to help themselves to the food in the kitchen before she graciously slips away to get ready for the wedding. The door to her bedroom closes, and then I hear the faint sound of the shower running.

  Damn. I’ve fucked up somehow, lost the closeness we had last night. I think of the way Avery described me. Emotionally uninvolved. That’s not the way I feel with Faye.

  “Man, this looks amazing. Faye did all this?” Parker grabs a stack of pancakes, bacon and eggs, dousing it all in maple syrup. “Henry, if you don’t marry her, I will.”

  Rhys smiles wryly at the look on my face and pours himself a cup of coffee. “You look shell-shocked. You two had an argument?”

  I shake my head. “A misunderstanding. I think.”

  “You were in the wrong. When in doubt, you’re in the wrong. If I’ve learned anything with women, it’s that you apologize often and sincerely.” Parker grins at me. “I know it might be hard for you to do, though.”

  “That advice is terrible,” Rhys drawls. “You completely lack a backbone.”

  Parker smiles, but doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t have to. We both know that Rhys is the one who’s been running from his problems for over a decade, but nothing good would come of us pointing out that lack of a backbone. My middle brother has been an enigma since he was born.

  I grab a plate and fill up on food. “I didn’t know she could cook.”

  “How long have you known Faye? You haven’t told us a word, man.”

  “About a month.”

  “Seems a lot longer,” Rhys says. “The way she stood up to good old Dad? Henry, Parker might marry her for her cooking, but I’d marry her for that.”

  I run a hand through my still-damp hair. They’re right, both of them, and it just makes me feel worse. I didn’t handle things right this morning, not at all. What happened last night wasn’t something to joke about.

  “Fuck. I know. I’ll fix it.” I glance over at her bedroom door. There’s a faint sound of a blow-dryer whizzing, but I don’t want to take any chances. “Now come on. What did you want to talk about?”

  “Well, I’m Hayden’s best man. We’re all serving as his groomsmen. I know that it means a lot to him, not that he’d tell us.”

  “You’re not giving me any new information here.”

  “Man, you are testy today. Could you turn down the Henry-ness just a notch? I was thinking that we could do something at the reception. I know you have a speech planned.”

  “I do.”

  “Rhys and I considered that too, but then we thought… how about we combine it and give one speech together? We’ll make it funny, with anecdotes of their childhood. Dad’s giving her away at the wedding, but we can sort of give her away a second time. Joke about how we’re finally giving Hayden our blessing. She’ll expect us to do something like that, you know.”

  I run a hand along my jaw. “And you come up with this the morning of our sister’s wedding?”

  Rhys throws me a wry look. “It’s shit planning, but it’s a good idea. You know it is. It’ll make her cry.”

  “Everything will make her cry today.”

  “Yes, but this one will be because of us.” Something softens in his gaze. “She deserves the best day we can give her.”

  “They do,” Parker corrects. He glances at his watch. “So we have… an hour to sort this out before we need to head to the venue. Rhys and I brought our tuxes, so we’ll change here. Is that cool?”

  Of course. Even as grown men, they rely on me to fix things, to be the host, to crash a morning I’d planned to spend with Faye.

  “Yes. We’ll write a combined speech, and we’ll give Lily the best moment of her life.” I drop my voice a few octaves. “And when Faye comes out of that bedroom, you’ll both tell her she looks beautiful, and you’ll thank her on your damn knees for cooking all this for you with only an hour’s notice.”

  “Of course,” Parker says. “Thanks, man.”

  Rhys cocks an eyebrow. “For us? Henry, she clearly did this for you.”

  I have no idea what to say to that.

  His words stay with me for the rest of the morning, even as we compare notes and add anecdotes to the different parts of our speech. We won’t have time to rehearse, but I doubt we’ll need to.

  “It’s nearly twelve,” I say. “Use the spare bedroom to change.”

  Rhys grumbles at my heavy-handedness, but they obediently grab their dressing bags and head into the spare. The door to Faye’s room is still closed.

  I knock twice.

  “Come in!”

  Having been near her for days now, you’d think that I’d be used to her beauty, but it still strikes me like a physical blow.

  She’s standing in front of the mirror, putting in an earring. Her hair falls in soft waves, some of it pinned back, framing her face. She’s painted her lips a deadly shade of red. Her dress is modest, but it still hugs her curves, showing me the waist I had my arm around and the ass that tormented me all night long.

  “Henry?”

  I realize I haven’t said anything. I close the door behind me and lean against it, needing distance between us before I do something I’ll
regret.

  “You look stunning.”

  Her lips curve into a small smile. “Thank you.”

  “You always look stunning.”

  She cocks her head, putting in the other earring. “What’s all this?”

  “Have you eaten anything?”

  “I had some breakfast before you woke up.”

  “You could’ve joined us, you know.”

  She frowns. “Sorry. I just figured you’d want to discuss family stuff, so I might as well get ready.”

  I shake my head, this conversation already slipping out of my grasp. “Thank you for cooking and for baking. I really appreciated it.”

  “You’re welcome,” she says. “Am I the best assistant you’ve ever had, or what?”

  Assistant. All I can manage is a weak smile. “Yes. The very best.”

  “You should go get changed. We need to leave soon.”

  I close the door to her bedroom behind me and shake my head at myself. Well, that wasn’t what I had wanted at all. I don’t want to be her boss, and her my assistant.

  And I want her to sleep in my arms every night.

  24

  Faye

  The wedding is held in the small Paradise Shores chapel, a beautiful wooden church with weathered wood and stone floors. It looks like something out of a fairy tale, filled to the brim with bouquets of lilies, one after the other, the smell heady and intoxicating.

  When I comment on the flowers to Jamie, she shoots me a grin. “That’s at her mother’s insistence. And I’ve been told that if anyone asks, we’re to repeat that fact, so no one thinks she’s that narcissistic.”

  I laugh. “I’ll do the same, then.”

  Jamie hurries to take her place as one of the bridesmaids and I head to my allocated seat. It’s on the front row, right next to Mrs. Marchand, alongside uncles and aunts.

  In the front row on the right side of the church is a handful of people. An elderly-looking man and a young woman with hair the color of Hayden’s. A few men sit beside them—Hayden’s military friends?

  My gaze travels back, inevitably and predictably, to the front of the church. Henry in a tuxedo is not something to miss. He’s the tallest of the four men up there, his brothers and Hayden. Altogether, they’re a stunning display of masculinity in its prime—thick hair and broad shoulders, all of them tanned from time spent at sea. I can practically feel the pride and emotion radiating from Mrs. Marchand next to me.

  Henry’s eyes land on me, and under his heavy gaze, something tightens in my chest. Happiness, longing, fear. Uncertainty and embarrassment. Twice in two days, I’ve basically asked him to sleep with me. And twice in two days, he’s said no.

  He’s clearly more in control than I am. And despite us agreeing that it wouldn’t, this weekend has changed things. Last night changed things, with his hand in between my legs and lips against my neck.

  I can’t have him as my boss anymore.

  It’s the only way forward, even if this is just an inconvenient attraction to him and nothing more. I couldn’t bear it if I had to schedule his dates or plan his trips—to see him at work every day, but never get anything more in return.

  He’d wanted a game about who could be more professional, and he’d been right when he said he always won, because I’ve reached my limit. My heart is already too invested.

  I’m done playing.

  Mrs. Marchand leans in closer, whispering in my ear. “Isn’t he handsome?”

  She means Henry, who is still looking straight at me, a small crease in between his eyebrows.

  “Yes,” I murmur. “He’s amazing.”

  An expectant hush falls over the congregation, and in the silence, a single violin starts to play the Wedding March. It’s hauntingly gorgeous. Heads turn, expectantly, but I don’t look at where Lily is entering. I look at Hayden.

  I’ve only been to a few weddings before, but each time, this is what I want to see—the look on the groom’s face. Call me a romantic, but it floors me every time.

  Hayden doesn’t disappoint.

  The raw emotion on his face brings tears to my eyes. From the way he’s staring, there might as well be no one here at all, and that’s when I realize that this whole wedding is just for her. All of it. He would be just as happy in a courthouse, and he would look at her the exact same way, knowing she was agreeing to spend her life with him.

  Only then do I look at Lily, and she’s glowing, a vision in white lace. Her smile is as broad as I’ve ever seen it, but there are tears in her eyes, too.

  I swallow my emotions and watch in stunned silence as Mr. Marchand kisses her on the cheek and hands her over to Hayden.

  Their vows are short, but they’re spoken with the kind of stark sincerity that betrays far deeper emotions. They’re raw. And I can tell that it’s held short because it’s private; this couple isn’t showy. It makes me like Henry’s family even more.

  Hayden and Lily say I do. His voice is low and vibrating with emotion; hers nearly breaks with it. Their kiss makes me teary-eyed again, to my surprise. I’ve just met them, and still… It’s the kind of wedding that makes me long for the day I might have my own.

  Mrs. Marchand reaches for my hand—unexpectedly—and squeezes as we both watch them together up there. I squeeze back.

  Henry’s eyes find mine again. This weekend, we’ve gone from almost strangers to almost lovers. I don’t know how to act around a man who brought me over the brink, who walked hand in hand with me along the beach at midnight, and who will sign my next paycheck.

  The ceremony finishes and people all around me start to rise, watching the newlyweds walk down the aisle hand in hand. We make our way outside, the reception held on the lawn outside the chapel, the sea a blanket of dark blue in the distance. It’s a gorgeous venue, the summer sun shining.

  I’m talking to one of Lily’s aunts when an arm wraps around my waist. “There you are,” Henry says. “Sorry, Auntie. Is it okay if I steal my date for a moment?”

  Her eyebrows rise in surprise. “But of course, Henry. It was lovely talking to you.”

  “Likewise, Mrs. Newman.”

  Henry’s arm tightens around my waist as he leads me to the refreshment table.

  “That was beautiful,” I breathe.

  He hands me a glass of champagne and takes one himself, spinning me around so I’m facing him. “You were watching Hayden,” he says, “when Lily walked in. Why?”

  I swallow. “The first look. I like it. I like seeing… it’s hard to describe.”

  “It made you sad.”

  “No, not sad. They were happy tears.”

  His hand runs along the bare skin of my arm. “You’ve just met them.”

  “Yes, but…” I struggle to find the words. “Love is beautiful, don’t you think? And it was there, in that church, in a purer form than I’ve seen for a long while. Maybe I’m jaded, I don’t know, but it’s not something I see often.”

  Henry’s gaze is warm, and his answer is a long time coming. “Maybe it would’ve been easier if I didn’t hire you,” he says softly, “but I’m very glad I did.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “What I should have said this morning. Faye, I slept better last night than I have in years, and it was because of you.”

  “Really? You were… uncomfortable.”

  He chuckles. “Yes, but you were in my arms.”

  “Another point lost.”

  “Fuck the points, Faye. Fuck that whole thing. I want you. And not just in bed.”

  My world narrows, until it’s just him and me, our gazes locked. The champagne glass in my hand is shaking. “Are you serious?”

  “Deadly,” he says. “You’ve said so yourself—when do I joke?”

  “Oh, but you do,” I say, and I’m smiling, and stepping closer to him, and the sun flares impossibly brighter. “You’re very funny when you choose to be.”

  He tips my head back and kisses me, his arms sliding around my waist. It’s a kiss with purpose
—a kiss that speaks of more kisses to come, that this is the beginning, not the end. It’s the best kiss he’s ever given me. “You make me lose all self-control, Faye.”

  “Oh, so it’s my fault?”

  The sound of his deep laugh in my ear sends shivers down my back, and then he readjusts, and I can feel just how much he wants me. “Oh.”

  “I’m half out of my mind with want. Have been for days, but after last night, it’s nearly uncontrollable.”

  “Henry Marchand, out of control.” I reach up and run a hand through his hair, warm from the sunshine. “This is one for the books.”

  “Not my best moment. We’re at my sister’s wedding reception, for Christ’s sake. There are people everywhere. I should be mingling and catching up with relatives, but the only thing I want to do is take you away from here.”

  I look up at him through my lashes, biting my lip slightly, and watch as his eyes darken.

  “Damn it.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I should move away…”

  His hand grips my waist. “Not necessary. I’ll have it under control in a minute.”

  I take a sip, the champagne cool against my parched tongue. “This is going to complicate things further, you know.”

  “You and me?”

  Hearing him say it gives me goose bumps. “Yes.”

  “Life is complicated,” he says. “We’ll figure it out. Trust me, Faye.”

  And the crazy thing is… I do.

  “Now, come on. Let’s try to do what we came here for before I go completely mad.” He bends down to my ear again. “Did I tell you that you look stunning?”

  I smile. “Yes. But I’m not sure I believed you the first time.”

  “Well, I’ll just have to say it again. And again. And again…”

  I laugh, my head spinning happily. “I’d tell you to stop, but I don’t want you to.”

  He grins. “Then I won’t.”

  We spend the rest of the reception mingling. It’s like the Founders’ Gala all over again, only this time, we don’t leave each other’s side. Henry’s hand is on the small of my back, or at my elbow, grasping my hand, touching at all times. I’m no better. I lean into him when we listen to the violinist play, and I thread my fingers through his as we suffer through anecdote after polite cocktail party anecdote.