by K. C. Wells
Table of Contents
Sneak Peek
Blurb
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
About the Author | By K.C. Wells
Coming in March 2019
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Copyright
Jordan leaned in close. “You okay?”
Brady slowly turned his head to look Jordan in the eye. “I’m good. And I like Belinda. Drake, on the other hand, seemed a little surprised to see me.”
Jordan sighed. “Which means at some point this evening, he’ll corner me, dying to know more.” His hand was still resting against Brady’s back, and the intimacy of his stance set up a fluttering in Brady’s belly.
Before he could give himself time to change his mind, Brady shifted even closer and whispered, “Want to really give him something to talk about?” He cupped Jordan’s cheek and moved in for a kiss.
Jordan stilled for a moment but then seemed to melt under his touch, and he realized with a shock that Jordan was returning the kiss.
Oh my God.
My Fair Brady
By K.C. Wells
A spur of the moment invitation changes two lives.
Jordan Wolf’s company runs like a well-oiled machine. At least until his PA, Brady Donovan, comes down with the flu and takes sick leave. Then Jordan discovers what a treasure Brady is and who really keeps his business—and Jordan in particular—moving like clockwork. So when Jordan needs a plus-one, Brady seems the obvious choice to accompany him. After a major shopping trip to get Brady looking the part, however…. Wow.
Brady has a whole new wardrobe, and now his boss is whisking him away for a weekend party. Something is going on, something Brady never expected: Jordan is looking at him like he's never seen him before, electrifying Brady's long-hidden desires.
But can the romantic magic last when the weekend is over and it’s back to reality?
For Jason. This one needed a lot, and you were AWESOME (as usual).
For my wonderful beta team. Thank you SO MUCH for your continuing support and advice.
Chapter One
September
“OKAY, you can put your shirt back on now.” Dr. Peters put away his blood pressure monitor and sat behind his desk.
Jordan Wolf smiled as he did up his cuffs. “Any reason why you scheduled me for an appointment first thing on a Monday morning? Not that I’m complaining. At least this way, I get your perpetual nagging over sooner rather than later.” He flashed the doctor a grin. Dr. Peters had been his physician for sixteen years, and they were pretty much used to each other.
Dr. Peters peered at him over his glasses. “So you already know what I’m about to say. Your blood pressure is still too high for my liking. And as for scheduling your appointment, it was deliberate. I like to ease into my workweek with patients who won’t give me a headache. Mondays are enough of a ballache without that.” He grinned. “By the way, I didn’t schedule this appointment—your personal assistant did that. Because you don’t schedule appointments.”
Jordan put on his jacket and sat back in his chair. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I don’t think Mondays are so bad.”
Dr. Peters gave a wry smile. “That’s because your workweek isn’t like most people’s.”
Jordan sighed. “And there you go, just like all the rest who think I have it easy. I don’t sit back and let everyone else do the work, you know.”
Dr. Peters arched his eyebrows. “Jordan, you’re the CEO of one of the largest accounting firms in New York. I don’t think for a second that you got to where you are without a lot of hard work, but I’m sure that by now you have things running just how you want them. The point is not about how stressful your work is—my point is about how many hours you spend in that office. How many business trips you take. How little time you spend in a gym. How much crap you’re eating.”
“I think my diet is just fine as it is. You should see the stuff I eat for lunch. All of it is healthy.”
“I’m sure it is, only that’s probably not down to you, is it? Someone orders in your food when you’re in the office. At least that assistant has your best interests at heart,” Dr. Peters remarked dryly. “It’s what you eat outside of work that bothers me. And you know what I mean. You need to eat less salt. Less fat. Less red meat. More vegetables and greens.” He sighed. “Look, the fact is, your blood pressure is too high. Period. So maybe you need to start thinking about making some changes.”
Jordan sighed. “Such as what? I’m forty. It’s not like I’m about to step down from the company.”
“And I’m not suggesting that. But you need to do something. Otherwise, we are going to continue having this same conversation for a good while longer. And I don’t want to get to the point where we’re talking medication. Prevention is better than a cure, remember.” Dr. Peters shook his head. “Why am I wasting my breath? You’re already focused on tackling another week head-on. I know you too well.”
Jordan rose to his feet. “I’ll watch the diet, I’ll try not to live in the office, and I’ll attempt at least two sessions a week in the gym. Is that good enough for you?”
Dr. Peters laughed. “Jordan, this is me you’re talking to. If you manage all that, I’ll eat my prescription pad. Now, if you get your PA to schedule in a couple of gym visits and stick them on your calendar, then I’d believe you might actually get there. Now, get out of here and go run your company.” He shook his head again. “Two sessions a week at the gym. Yeah, tell me another one.”
He was still chuckling as Jordan left his office.
JORDAN smiled to himself as he stepped into the elevator. In spite of Dr. Peter’s usual message of doom and gloom, he was feeling positive.
I have it pretty good. Not perfect, but yeah, pretty good.
Perfect would be having someone to share it all with, but he’d been there, tried that. Not one of his previous relationships had made it past two or three months. It had gotten to the point where Jordan was convinced every guy he met had read the same script: “You work too hard.” “You never have time for me.” “I feel like I’m competing with your company.”
Yeah, they just didn’t get it. Success required effort. Time. Sweat. And all of that was nonnegotiable.
Jordan stepped out of the elevator and pushed open the glass door that led to his offices. Just like clockwork, there was Brady Donovan, his personal assistant, waiting for him, pushing his glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose as usual.
He handed Jordan a bundle of folded newspapers and magazines. “Good morning, sir. Here are your copies of the Financial Times, the Wall Street Journal, and the Economist. The International Business Times is already on your monitor, and I’ll be in with your coffee in a moment.”
“Thanks, Brady.” Jordan went past him, along the hallway that was flanked by department offices, past the staff room, until he reached the door at the end. That was Brady’s office. No one got to see Jordan without going through Brady, which was just how Jordan liked it. He walked past Brady’s desk to the door of his office. Once inside, he strolled o
ver to the wide desk, which was devoid of clutter, and sank into the high-backed leather chair behind it.
Seconds later, Brady was there with a coffee tray. He placed it on the desk and poured a cup. “When you’re ready, sir, I’ll go through your schedule for today and the rest of the week.”
“Fine,” Jordan said absently, already engrossed in the article on his monitor. By the time he’d read through the posts that interested him, forty minutes had passed, the coffeepot was empty, and he was ready for the day. The office door opened and Brady entered, tablet in hand.
Jordan smiled to himself. He has my routine down to the second, doesn’t he? Sometimes he put Brady’s uncanny sense of timing down to mind-reading.
“Your schedules are in your inbox, sir. You have a meeting at eleven with Paul Dudley, with regards to the new branch opening in Boston next month. There will be a conference call at two, with the manager of the Tallahassee branch. Those are the two most important points for today.”
“Thanks, Brady.” Jordan glanced at Brady’s red bow tie. “Is that a new one?”
Brady smiled. “Not really. I’ve been wearing it for about two years now.” He cleared his throat. “Will there be anything else?”
Jordan shook his head. “I’ll call if I need anything. Besides, it looks like you have my day organized for me.”
“Okay, sir.”
It took Jordan a minute or two to realize Brady had left the room. Not that that was unusual—Brady seemed to come and go so quietly sometimes that Jordan was barely aware of his presence.
He was halfway through the Financial Times when his phone rang.
“Sir? Your mother is on line two.”
“Thank you.” Jordan pressed the button beside the blinking light. “Good morning, Mom.”
“It is now,” she commented, her voice decidedly cheerful. “The flowers just arrived. Jordan, they’re beautiful. Thank you. And they smell divine.”
For a second he was lost, but then he caught sight of his schedule: Mom—birthday. “I’m glad you like them. Sorry I didn’t call you first thing. I was—”
“Sweetheart, I know how busy you are. Actually, I’m always surprised when you remember to send cards and gifts. You have so much to do, and yet you always manage to choose the perfect present. Your father still talks about that model ship kit you sent him for his birthday last year. Just what he wanted. And you know how much I love fragrant flowers. So difficult to find them—everything is reared in a hothouse for speed these days—but you do it every time.” She paused. “Thank you again, darling. I’ll let you get back to running your little empire.” She laughed. “Nice to know that such a successful businessman still finds time to shop for his mother’s birthday.” She said her goodbyes and disconnected.
Jordan stared at the phone thoughtfully, then pressed the intercom. “Brady?”
“Sir?”
“What exactly did I send my mother for her birthday?”
“A hand-tied bouquet of roses, lilies, and freesia, sir. Oh, and a box of her favorite chocolate truffles.”
Jordan blinked. “You know what my mom’s favorite chocolates are?”
There was a small pause. “Of course. That’s my job.” Another pause. “Anything else, sir?”
“No, that will be all. Thank you, Brady.” It wasn’t until he’d finished the call that Jordan realized he should have thanked Brady for remembering her birthday. Because Jordan had completely forgotten.
Ten minutes later, his intercom buzzed. “Sir? Do you have time to go over the details for the Business & Financial Conference next week?”
It took Jordan a moment to recall the trip. Not that he was forgetful—conferences were solely Brady’s terrain. “Sure, come on in.”
A minute later, Brady was there, armed with his ever-present tablet.
Jordan gestured for him to sit on the couch. “Where is the conference again?” He had some vague recollection, but it had been months since he’d told Brady to book spots on it.
“At the Nashville Convention Center. We have rooms at the Renaissance Nashville Hotel. We fly in on Sunday morning, and the conference runs for three days. I’ve booked you in several of the breakout sessions, but I’ve made sure to schedule you some downtime too. There is also a preconference session on financial trends at one thirty on Sunday afternoon, and that’s followed by the evening welcome reception.”
“You’ve got the room next to mine as usual?”
Brady nodded. “And I’ll be taking notes throughout the three days. I’ve also taken the liberty of booking you into the hotel spa.” He smiled. “I know how much you like a good sauna and massage.” He glanced at his tablet. “Our car to JFK is organized, as is the car when we land. I’ll also liaise with Donna, to make sure she packs your tux—there are evening events planned for every night. There are networking continental breakfasts planned for each morning, but let me know if you want to skip them and I’ll organize something to be brought to you.”
“When do we fly home?” Jordan liked how he didn’t have to concern himself with any of the details—Brady had taken care of everything, including getting his housekeeper, Donna, to do his packing.
“The conference concludes Wednesday before lunch. The flight will be roughly two and a half hours, so we should be back in New York in time for dinner.”
“That all sounds great.” Jordan smiled. “Just remind me ahead of—”
“I’ll make sure you have all the details in writing, sir.” Brady got up from the couch. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.” And with that, he left the room.
Jordan smiled to himself again. Brady had been with him for three years, and in all that time, his wardrobe hadn’t varied in the slightest. His had a somewhat… muted style. He regularly wore beige chinos, with a white shirt and a pale cardigan, and always with a bow tie of some description. With clothing like that, Brady should have stood out, but remarkably, he seemed to fade into the background. That didn’t make him any less efficient, however. Brady didn’t fuss but merely got on with the job, and Jordan had to admit that things had gone smoothly around the office since his arrival.
He sincerely hoped Brady didn’t decide to move on to greener pastures. Jordan doubted he could find another PA who was so damned easy to work with.
BRADY glanced at his phone. It was already seven o’clock, and Jordan was still there. That man…. Brady sighed and shut down his computer, his gaze drifting to Jordan’s door, through which came the tapping of keys. Brady got up and went over to it, then paused as he listened. Come on, Jordan. Time to call it a day.
He knocked quietly and waited. When there was no response, he ducked his head around the door. Jordan was at his desk, typing on his keyboard, his brow furrowed. He wore his earbuds, which accounted for the lack of response. Brady walked over to the desk and stood in front of it.
Jordan glanced up and gave a start. “Christ!” He pulled the earbuds from his ears and gave Brady a hard stare. “Do you have to sneak up on me like that? Did you want something?”
Brady sighed. “One, it was hardly sneaking, and two, have you glanced out of the window lately?” When Jordan’s frown deepened, Brady shook his head. “Everyone went home an hour ago.”
Jordan peered at his monitor. “Is that the time?” He sagged in his chair. “I started making notes for an article in the Economist, and I guess I got carried away.”
“I’ll call your car service, sir. They’ll be here in about ten minutes.” Thankfully they were used to Jordan’s timekeeping by now.
“Thank you.”
“Donna will have left for the day, so I’ll arrange for dinner to be delivered. It should be there not long after you get home.” Home was a two-bedroom apartment on East Eighty-Second Street in the Upper East Side of Manhattan, nearly thirty streets—and a whole world—away from Brady’s place. Jordan didn’t really need a housekeeper with a property that size, but once Brady had started working for him, it hadn’t taken him all that long to realize hi
s boss needed looking after.
He probably has no idea what I do on a daily basis to make sure his company—and his life—runs smoothly.
Brady walked behind the desk, peered at the screen, and saved Jordan’s notes. Then he shut down the computer. “Come on, sir. Time to go home,” he said gently.
Jordan smiled. “What would I do without you, Brady?”
As much as Brady did for him, he knew there was no such thing as an indispensable man. If he walked out the following day, Jordan could easily find someone to replace him. Not that he had any such plans. Brady loved his job. He loved putting his organizational skills to good use.
Then there was the tiny but not insignificant fact that he was crushing on his boss.
And he will never, ever find that out. Because that would be a disaster in the making.
Chapter Two
“HEY, Jordan! I thought I’d missed you.”
Jordan smiled at the familiar voice, then turned to greet Drake Daniels. “And I thought it weird not to have seen you before today.” He shook his head. “Cutting it fine, Drake.” The conference would finish later that day, and Jordan had come to the networking breakfast to catch up with a few of his business acquaintances. Drake Daniels, however, was more of a friend. They’d gone to college together, and although their paths diverged, they’d kept in touch.
Drake laughed. “I usually skip these breakfasts. It’s too damn early for power talks.” He patted Jordan on the arm. “So, how is life in the Big Apple? Still aiming to be on the Fortune 500?”
Jordan chuckled. “No such aspirations, but I’m doing well. I take it you’re doing well?”
“The business is ticking over. I can’t complain,” Drake said with a modest shrug. Jordan knew better. Drake was doing very well indeed.
“How are Belinda and the kids?”