The Tycoon’s Pregnant Lover (European Tycoon Book 1)

by Leslie North

  “I’ll make us a cup of tea.” Gavin turned away before he could act on a stupid impulse. Of course, three years didn’t magically wash away with the rain. Sarah Hanson might as well be a stranger showing up on his doorstep.

  Time to find out exactly what she wanted.

  “I’m not going to reinstate the contract,” Gavin repeated. They had toweled themselves dry and now sat looking at one another across the vast table that held pride of place in the center of the kitchen. He watched Sarah pull her mug of tea closer to herself and stare hard at its steaming surface. If Gavin hadn’t boiled the kettle himself, he might have believed for a moment that the woman was heating it with the power of her gaze alone.

  “Why not?” Sarah glanced up sharply. A professional, to Gavin’s way of thinking, would not have asked such a question in a business setting, and said professional would certainly not have taken the tone Sarah had assumed.

  Gavin shifted uncomfortably. Their shared history was probably as present in her mind as it was in his own… and even if it wasn’t, it certainly served to explain her familiarity now. “Because I dislike gardens and I don’t see the need for one here.”

  Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “You dislike gardens? What even…? Who in the world dislikes gardens?”

  “As I just said, I do,” he replied mildly.

  “Help me to understand.”

  A part of him reflected (with some dry amusement at his own expense) that he didn’t owe Sarah any sort of explanation at all. He had his opinions, his likes and dislikes, the same as anybody else.

  His mouth twisted briefly at a sudden distraction, but he quickly mastered his expression from long practice. Beneath the table, he gripped his knee, feeling a phantom whisper of pain that he wasn’t sure to trust as real. It had been decades since he’d broken his leg, and of course he didn’t experience the same pain anymore. Only the limp. Certainly talk alone of gardens wasn’t enough to trigger some sort of flare-up.

  “Family history,” he offered at last. “I was dragged on a ‘gardens of England’ tour when I was a child. Quite against my will. I’ve never fully recovered.” That much, at least, was true.

  “Are you really telling me that azaleas are traumatizing for you?” Sarah pressed. She leaned across the table over her tea and studied him so intently, it was all he could do not to shrink back out of instinct. He had forgotten about the power of those eyes of hers. “All because of a family trip you were forced to go on?”

  Gavin hated being reduced to this superficial understanding of his position, but given the story he had just told, he couldn’t blame Sarah for the conclusion she’d drawn. “That’s what I’m telling you,” he confirmed.

  “And this never came up when we—” Sarah cut herself off abruptly and blushed. She sat back in her chair, pulled her mug into her lap, and fiddled busily with its looped handle while Gavin waited to see if she had any more to say on the subject. She didn’t.

  “I’ve seen enough gardens to last me a lifetime.” He returned to the subject at hand for both their sakes. Hell, but this was awkward. Over the years, he had entertained innumerable fantasies of a reunion with Sarah, but he had never imagined she would show up on his doorstep as an ambassador for an employee he had effectively fired. “I won’t be reinstating your family’s contract.”

  “I see.” Sarah stared hard at the surface of the table, then set her tea on the table undrunk and rose. “Well, then. I guess there’s no more to say.”

  Although Gavin was in complete disagreement, he surprised himself by rising with her. “Sarah…” he began uncertainly.

  She smiled tightly, making a thin line of her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It was nice to see you again, Gavin. But now that the rain has let up, I think I had better go home.”

  And where is home for you, Sarah, if not in the States? At present, you said, you’re living with your aunt and uncle, but for how long might that be? It was on the tip of his tongue to inquire further as he followed her out to the foyer. What had brought her to England this time around? And why had she pressed him so hard about the contract? Surely her aunt and uncle had other clients in the area who would be far more receptive to the idea of paying for useless vegetation.

  Sarah pulled on her shoes as Gavin stood there, about as lively as the empty suit of armor gleaming dully in one corner of the foyer, silently watching her. He was desperate for something to say to keep her here, but he kept coming up empty. This unexpected evening had unfolded so quickly, he was having trouble catching his breath. And certainly, the beauty with the unforgettable blue eyes and tempting figure, doubled over before him, wasn’t helping matters.

  When she spoke again, her tone rang with finality. “Well, I guess this is goodbye.” Again. He heard the word as clearly as if she had voiced it, though of course she hadn’t. Sarah straightened, raised her chin a few degrees too high, and held out her hand. He wanted to seize those fingers; his lips ached ferociously to graze her knuckles, to kiss any part of her, for however long he could sustain the touch.

  But the impulse passed. He forced the issue by taking her hand and giving it an awkward shake. They gazed at one another, unsmiling. Then Sarah turned away. He held the door for her and watched her retreating back as she disappeared down the driveway.

  What the hell? Gavin shook his head in wonder as he made his way to the kitchen once more. What are the odds she would wander back into my life like this?

  Moreover, what am I meant to do about it?

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. Gavin blinked and glanced down. For an utterly illogical moment, he expected it to be Sarah. He fished the device out and thumbed open his text messages.

  Look out. The cryptic warning came from his sister, Geneva. Mum is on the warpath again. I just left dinner with her. Heard she’s already invited three women to your party.

  Seriously? he typed back to her.

  I’m hearing wedding bells whether you want them or not, little brother.

  Unacceptable. Gavin tossed his phone onto the table and reshuffled his dark locks in agitation. His mother had forced him into a more tech empire-friendly haircut recently, not leaving much to disorder anymore. This minor detail of his mother’s continued intervention in his life only frustrated him further.

  Gavin glared out the window. Glared at his kitchen. Glared at the table and at Sarah’s leftover mug of tea, already gone cold.

  He had to find a way out of this. He had to. His life wasn’t his own, had never been his own.

  Except for that time, three years ago. Three blissful months.

  The Tycoon’s Fake Fiancée

  Available 30 January 2020

  LeslieNorthBooks.com

  BLURB

  Billionaire Connor McClellan knows the worth of a woman—at least in business dealings. Which is why he depends on Rosalie Bridges, the ever-reliable outreach manager from his Aspen office, to pose as his girlfriend when he woos a potential client. Connor’s next client represents the only business he’s ever lost. Gaining them back would make his record perfect. He assumes that Rosalie is available—only to find that she’s pissed off at him and pregnant…with his baby. Their hookup at a previous business meeting was the hottest of his life, and now it’s the most complicated, too. Still, they need to fake this relationship to land the deal. But Rosalie isn’t interested in playing along.

  Rosalie has wanted Connor from a distance for years, and always thought she’d get her chance to impress him when he came to Aspen. After they’d hooked up, she thought she was making headway, but when Connor sent carnations along with a generic note and didn’t call till he needed her again, she decided she was done being used.

  With Connor desperately needing to land this deal, and Rosalie no longer willing to be a part of his fake relationship scheme—especially with a baby on the way—a deal of a different kind needs to be struck. She'll be his fake girlfriend one last time, and in exchange she'll get the promotion to head the region’s outreach and out
of his life. As much as she wishes to be with Connor and have him help raise their child, she isn’t sure she can risk her heart on a man used to taking others for granted. But Connor isn't planning on letting her get away without a fight. He's got a week while they woo the client together to win her back—and if there's one thing Connor knows how to do, it's win.

  As business and pleasure become further intertwined, Connor realizes for once in his life he’d like this fake relationship to be something more. If the two of them can pull this off, they may land the deal, and the love, to last them a lifetime.

  Grab your copy of

  The Billionaire’s Pregnant Assistant here.

  EXCERPT

  Chapter 1

  Rosalie Bridges didn't consider herself a complainer. She prided herself on seeing the positive, finding the bright side, and seeking out the little moments that she could point to and say, "There. Right then I was really, really happy."

  Some days though, she had to concede, that finding those moments was really hard.

  Today, for example? Leaving the safety of her bed had become really hard to justify.

  "Okay then, I'll go over it again from the top. Maybe I'm just not explaining it correctly?" Pasting a bright, winning smile on her face, Rosalie gripped her pen tightly to keep from throttling the unctuous restaurant manager who'd barged into her office without an appointment, only to demand she deal with him immediately. "We understand it's a clumsy workaround, but until the tech team installs a suitable patch in the system, it's the only way to keep this from happening again. Would you like to show me what's tripping you up?"

  As outreach manager for the Aspen satellite office, Rosalie was used to fielding McClellan Systems’ less sophisticated clients. The pace was slower and sleepier here than in the main New York office—during last year’s visit, she hadn’t been able to believe how fast everyone moved—which normally suited her fine. Only the people who primarily bought their systems—the geriatric owners of family restaurants and passionate hippie-chefs with no common sense—often needed a patient, guiding hand.

  And today, Rosalie was quickly running out of patience.

  Taking a deep breath, Rosalie crossed and re-crossed her legs before smiling at the client across from her. “We'll take as long as you need." She shut the valve on her irritation. After all, it wasn’t the customer’s fault that her desk was sporting a sad lump of yellow carnations.

  Carnations!

  How had she been so wrong? When Connor had looked her in the eye and known her favorite flower, he’d convinced her this was it. After all these years of loving him from afar, he finally reciprocated all her admiration and desire. He knew her, well enough to know how much she valued the language of flowers. Roses meant passion.

  Carnations?

  Carnations—yellow carnations—meant … disappointment. Rejection.

  As if the carnations hadn’t been insulting enough, the card hadn’t helped. Bland, boring, and printed—not even handwritten—on an insipid cardboard cut-out more suitable for a funeral arrangement.

  Inside, all it said was “Thanks for all you do for McClellan Technology Group." No name. No signature.

  At first she'd thought it was a joke. She'd even stood at her doorway, waiting—for longer than she cared to admit—certain that the real, promised bouquet of roses would arrive soon after.

  After all, she'd forgiven the flowers’ late delivery. Since their encounter at the lodge, she'd barely even been in the office until this week. For the past six weeks, she’d bounced from smoothing out their client relations with information-gathering visits to their businesses to attending a mandatory training in Denver before flying out to Singapore for a development workshop from which she was still jetlagged.

  But she couldn't forgive this card.

  All she did?

  What she did was help him win over clients by pretending to be in love with him—no matter that she actually was. What she did was always remember his clients’ names and add the right people to the company’s Christmas card list? What she did was send a case of Vince Judson’s favorite IPA, sealing Connor’s most recent deal, even while in another freaking country.

  What she did was make him look so good that he was in the running for Esquire's Man of the Year again. Was that all she did for McClellan Technology Group?

  Or, was all she’d done was have sex with him in a moment of weakness she regretted more and more with every awful day that passed?

  He hadn't even thanked her for all she did for him. Rosalie had always brushed off Connor's single-minded focus on business, but there was no brushing off how he'd thanked her for helping his company.

  “This is completely unacceptable—” The client’s voice rose, calling her attention back to him as he threatened to "—take this to someone higher." Rosalie jerked the leash on her runaway thoughts and sighed.

  "You have every reason to be frustrated." Her words felt disloyal, but screw it. "The president of the company is aware of this issue." She glanced at the vase of carnations one more time before arriving at a decision. "Here's the number for his personal cell." She scribbled Connor’s direct line on a scrap of paper. "You can call him any time, day or night."

  Handing the piece of paper to the suddenly pleased client, she bid him farewell, feeling petty but triumphant. Connor wouldn’t like being sold out like this. She was supposed to handle these issues so they wouldn't land in his lap. It was what she did for McClellan Technology Group.

  She brushed her hands together, trying to hold on to the rush from petty revenge. But as soon as the client left, it faded, leaving her alone in her office with the carnations again. For all the satisfaction knowing that the client was about to ruin Connor's day gave her, she was pissed that they had come to this.

  They'd known about the weakness in the software for months now.

  Connor had known.

  She'd told him, multiple times, that they needed a suitable patch for this stumbling block, but had he listened to her?

  Did he respect her as more than a prop girlfriend at all?

  Rosalie curled her fingers tightly, digging her nails into her palm to keep her cool. What the hell is going on with you? It wasn’t like her to react so strongly.

  But this was Connor. Goddamn Connor McClellan. He made her feel like a million bucks every time she was at his side.

  And an insignificant speck when he left.

  Especially when he’d left her bed.

  Her stomach clenched. Her usual breakfast of yogurt and granola wasn’t sitting right. Absently rubbing her belly, she steadied herself against her desk as dizziness hit. “Whoa,” she breathed. "Time for lunch."

  She poked her head out of her office. “Are you over there?"

  Rosalie’s office assistant Anna poked up from behind the high-walled desk at the front of her office. “Geez, that took forever! I thought he was going to grab a cot and sleep here! Whoa, you look like hell!" Bubbly and blonde, she had a way of framing the most cutting insults as endearing.

  Rosalie laughed, rubbing her stomach again. “I don’t think I've fully shaken off that virus I picked up in Singapore.”

  She’d gotten back from the international intensive only a few days ago. Clearly she was still jetlagged and queasy from the unfamiliar but delicious food. It would explain her craziness, her general irritation, and low mood. She glanced over at her desk.

  The carnations were a pretty good explanation too.

  Anna caught the direction of her gaze. “They are pretty though.” She smiled brightly. “Want me to order in for lunch? Something carb- filled and delicious to settle your stomach?”

  Rosalie massaged the throbbing place between her eyebrows. “Yeah,” she sighed. “That would be great, thanks a lot." Retreating back to her office, she shut the door with a groan.

  The lodge. The trip to Singapore where she'd represented McClellan well. All signs, she'd thought, pointing towards something more with Connor.

  Until this.r />
  With a grunt, she tore the sappy, impersonal card out of its holder and ripped it in two. "Thanks for all I do?" she hissed, shredding it into tiny pieces which drifted down to the garbage in irritating snow. "Sure, Connor. More like thanks for nothing."

  Connor set his phone back on his desk and stretched his hands over his head in silent triumph. He'd just hung up with Ed Coney of Ventura Enterprises.

  The one who’d gotten away was back.

  And this time, Connor would get his business.

  He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the gleaming surface of his antique oak desk. His one concession to frivolity, it had been his grandfather's, and though the sight of it drove his mother nuts, Connor had thought taking the token from the nasty old man after his death was appropriate.

  Growing up, it had been just Connor and his mother. But he still thought grimly to this day, it shouldn’t have been. The fact that his mother had gotten pregnant, and then refused to marry the father was enough for Connor’s grandfather to cut her out of the will. Everything Connor had, he owed to his mom’s scrappy, ruthless drive to provide for them both. He’d built this company as a monument to her. He’d amassed his first million just to prove that everything she’d done had been worth it.

  But there’d been a tiny --okay bigger than tiny – part of him that wanted revenge. See Pops? Look at what I accomplished. Bet you wish you’d treated Mom better now, huh?

  Taking his desk was petty. But Connor felt entitled to a little pettiness every so often, at least when it came to his mother’s family.

  He brushed his hand over the sleek surface of his grandfather’s desk, only to lift his phone absentmindedly and check it again.

  No calls. No texts. He glanced out the window. Not even a freaking carrier pigeon.