My Fair Brady

by K. C. Wells

  “Quite the opposite.” Brady poured out the wine, refilling their glasses. “There’s just me, my mom, and my dad. They live in Florida.”

  Jordan widened his eyes. “I’d have thought you would prefer to live there. New York can be pretty harsh in winter.”

  Brady snickered. “Excuse me? What temperatures did we get this past June? Ninety-five degrees? For God’s sake, the asphalt was melting on my shoes. And I chose to come work in New York. Florida may have a great climate, but to be honest, it’s also dull as dishwater, not to mention as flat as a pancake.”

  “And, of course, New York City is famous for its hills and valleys,” Jordan interjected.

  Brady’s eyes sparkled. “There’s always something going on here. And I’m not just talking arts and culture. If I want to get a bit closer to nature, all I have to do is walk a block and I’m in Harlem Meer.” He cocked his head to one side. “Have you ever been there?” When Jordan shook his head, Brady sighed. “It’s beautiful, especially now when the colors are changing. I love walking along the shoreline, watching the birds on the island, the reflections of the trees in the water….” It was also a romantic place, where Brady had often dreamed of walking hand in hand with someone special, leaning his head on their shoulder, a strong arm around his waist.

  A wonderful fantasy.

  All such thoughts were driven away by the arrival of pan-roasted chicken, redolent with the aroma of lemon and garlic, and pan-seared salmon with sautéed spinach. Jordan made sure Brady got to taste the salmon, and Brady made equally sure that a piece of chicken ended up on Jordan’s plate. By the time he’d eaten the last mouthful, Brady had begun to reconsider the idea of dessert. It was only Jordan’s promise that the affogato was worth it that made him relent.

  The vanilla gelato drowned in espresso turned out to be every bit as wonderful as Jordan had promised, and Brady helped himself to the last spoonful with another sigh of contentment.

  “Okay, you were right. That was amazing. Thank you.”

  Jordan split the final bit of wine between their glasses, then leaned back, smiling. “I should be thanking you. After all, you’re paying for it, right?”

  “That was the deal.” Brady estimated the bill would be at least one hundred fifty dollars, but if that was what three courses of heaven tasted like, it was so worth it. He patted his belly. “They don’t expect to have us out of here right this second, do they? Because I’m not sure I could move right now.” Then he opened his eyes wide. “Oh God. Tell me they’re not going to bring coffee. I don’t think I have the space for that.”

  Jordan laughed softly. “Actually? Italians don’t end a meal with a large frothy cappuccino. An espresso, maybe, but we already had that. I was thinking more along the lines of a small limoncello. It’s a liqueur made from lemons, and it’s strong but delicious.” He peered at Brady. “Do you want to try it?”

  Brady nodded, unable to stop himself. For some reason he was finding it increasingly difficult to say no to Jordan. It seemed to be the pattern for the day.

  When the tiny glasses arrived, filled with a hazy lemon liquid, Brady took a tentative sip, and the alcohol warmed him instantly. Definitely something to be savored slowly. Then he realized he had another reason for taking his time—he didn’t want the day to finally come to an end.

  But all too soon, Jordan was calling for a car to pick them up, and Brady’s bliss vanished with the last drops of limoncello. He said nothing as the car drove through the streets of Manhattan, heading for Harlem—Jordan had insisted on dropping him at his apartment, along with all his shopping bags. Jordan was equally quiet, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Brady wanted to find the words to fully express what a great day he’d had, but for some reason, they wouldn’t come. Maybe that was a good thing. Brady had a feeling that if he opened his mouth, he’d spill more than he wanted to.

  “Is everything in place for next Friday?” Jordan asked as the car pulled up outside the building.

  Brady nodded. “It’ll take just under two and a half hours by car to get to East Hampton, three if we hit traffic, and there’ll be a rental car waiting for us. I’ve arranged for us to leave at noon, unless you’d like to get there later?”

  Jordan shook his head. “No, that sounds perfect. It’ll give us time to acclimatize before the evening.” He met Brady’s gaze. “Have a good weekend. I’ll see you Monday morning.” Then he smiled, and it reached his eyes. “Thank you for your company today. Of course, we still have one more excursion before next Friday.”

  Brady frowned. “We do?”

  Jordan grinned. “You’re going to love your spa day. You’ll be so relaxed at the end of it, we’ll have to pour you into the car.” His eyes gleamed in the car’s interior light. “My only regret is I don’t get to watch you on the receiving end of Shawn or Dominic’s enthusiastic massage.”

  Brady climbed out of the car, clutching his bags. His only thought as he watched the car pull away was that a massage kind of implied skin. A lot of skin. On display. Then he recalled Jordan’s words, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He won’t get to see me.

  There was a downside to that, however. Brady wouldn’t get to see Jordan either.

  What I wouldn’t give to be in that room….

  Jordan, lying facedown on a massage table, with only a folded towel covering that firm ass.

  Down, boy. Thinking about his boss’s ass was not a good thing.

  Danger, Will Robinson!

  Chapter Nine

  AS soon as Jordan clicked his voicemail and heard his mother’s dulcet tones, he knew what was coming. It had to have been a couple of months since he’d paid his parents a visit, and his mother’s polite inquiry was her way of saying he was long overdue. A glance at his phone told him it wasn’t too late for a call.

  “You are alive. I’ll cancel the obituary in the New York Times.”

  Jordan chuckled. “We’ve talked about your experiments with sarcasm. It really isn’t you.” He sighed. “You can’t have it both ways, you know. You can’t make comments about me running a little empire and then expect me to—”

  “To what? Come see your parents once in a while? Of course, Westchester County is so very far from the Upper East Side, isn’t it? I mean, it must take you all of fifty minutes to reach us by car.”

  “And again with the sarcasm.” Not to mention she had no idea how bad the traffic was.

  “Jordan.” Her voice softened. “We haven’t seen you for nine weeks. I know it’s short notice, but would it be such an imposition to come for dinner tomorrow evening? Fiona will be here, and she’s bringing a guest. I thought it would be pleasant to spend some time together. Unless you’d rather come next weekend?”

  “That won’t be possible. I’m away next weekend.” Jordan considered the idea. If Fi was bringing a guest, his mother might be less inclined to focus on her usual topic of conversation, which was Jordan’s lack of a partner. In fact, that could work to his advantage. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

  “Oh, wonderful. We’ll expect you at some point tomorrow afternoon. Your father made some noises about having a barbecue, but that will depend entirely on the weather. And if you want to stay the night instead of heading back to the city, you’d be more than welcome. You haven’t done that for so long.”

  “Who’s Fiona bringing, by the way?” Jordan was dying of curiosity. It wasn’t like his sister to do such a thing.

  “Oh, some friend of hers—a coworker, I believe. Well, I’d better make sure everything’s ready for tomorrow.” She paused, and Jordan couldn’t miss the warmth that crept into her voice. “It will be so good to see you.” She disconnected the call.

  Her obvious pleasure made him glad he’d said yes. It was only as he was getting into bed a couple of hours later that a thought occurred to him. He’d assumed Fi’s friend was someone she was interested in, but then a horrible suspicion began to filter through his brain.

  What if Fi was bringing someone to meet him?

&nb
sp; Jordan knew his mother could be sneaky when she put her mind to it. He wouldn’t put it past her or Fiona to concoct this scheme simply as a means of introducing Jordan to some eligible bachelor. Then he shook his head, appalled that he could even countenance such a supposition.

  They wouldn’t—would they? He snorted. Of course they would. Doubtless his mother’s primary concern was future grandchildren—there had been several not-so-subtle hints in the past already—but any way she dressed it up, she wanted him settled down and married.

  Jordan stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t that he was opposed to the idea of marriage; it was simply a case of a lack of opportunity, of suitable guys whose whole focus wasn’t to make him spend more time with them and less with his company, or of finding that one person where the connection and chemistry were so unmistakable that they both heard the click.

  Let’s face it. The only guy I’ve really noticed lately has been Brady. A guy who until recently had almost melted into the background.

  Except I’m seeing him now, aren’t I?

  Something uncoiled deep in Jordan’s belly, and it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. I sure am.

  BY ten o’clock the following morning, Jordan was starting to regret his decision. They’d been down this road before. His mother had tried on more than one occasion—unsuccessfully—to fix him up with a guy, and Jordan had really thought she’d learned her lesson. Why she didn’t apply herself equally to finding Fi a husband, Jordan wasn’t quite sure, but then Fiona always seemed to have some guy or other in tow. She was smart, however—she didn’t bring them anywhere near their mother.

  I suppose I should be grateful to have parents who accept me, who want to see me settled and happy. Not that Jordan didn’t want that too—it was just proving a little difficult to bring about.

  When his phone rang and Brady’s name flashed up on the screen, Jordan smiled. “Hey.”

  “Jordan, we have a problem.” Brady sounded flustered, and that was enough to send a wave of panic through him. Brady never sounded flustered.

  “What’s up?”

  “I’m at the office. I’ve been here for the last two hours. I’m sorry to call you on the weekend, but I’ve been trying to fix this and I’m getting nowhere.”

  “Okay, calm down. What’s wrong?”

  He caught Brady’s deep intake of breath. “I was catching up on work from yesterday, just checking that everything had gone smoothly while we were out shopping. Do you recall how we were about to take on a contract with a new company to cover employees’ insurance? Remember? We found a better deal?”

  “You found a better deal, if I remember correctly. Yeah, sure.”

  “Well, I got an email from them. The switchover was supposed to be this weekend, only… they’re asking why we haven’t deposited the funds with them, as we agreed. That should have happened yesterday.”

  “Have you called the bank?”

  Brady let out an exasperated sigh. “First thing I did when I saw the email. The bank says they haven’t received any transfer of funds from us for that account. So I’m sitting here, going over everything…. Jordan, the money went out from our account, right on time. The trouble is, I have no clue where it went. If the bank doesn’t have it, then where the hell is it?”

  “Have you called Bryan in Finance?”

  “Yes, and I think I pissed him off. He obviously didn’t appreciate an early call on a Saturday.”

  Jordan suppressed a growl. “Well, tough. This is his job. He should be dealing with this.” He got to his feet. “I’m going to call a cab. I’ll be there as fast as I can, all right? Put the coffee on. Sounds like we’re going to need it. And Brady? Thanks for trying to sort this. Don’t worry. We’ll work it out.” He disconnected the call, then found the number for a taxi, his mind buzzing.

  What the hell?

  Jordan wasn’t too concerned about the missing funds—money had a habit of turning up eventually—but he didn’t like the idea of Brady getting stressed out about this, not when it should be someone else’s headache. And when all the dust had settled, someone’s ass was going to get well and truly kicked.

  Jordan walked into his office and found Brady sitting on the carpet, surrounded by printouts and peering at a laptop. “Still no luck?”

  Brady glanced up and shook his head. “This makes no sense. I’ve checked and double-checked. All the paperwork was in order, the debits set up…. It all went like clockwork at our end, so why isn’t the money where it should be?”

  Jordan walked over to the coffeepot, poured two mugs, then handed one to Brady. He squatted on the carpet next to him. “Okay, let’s be logical here. The money has been taken from our account, right?”

  “Right.” Brady sipped his coffee.

  “And our records show the bank taking the money?”

  “Yes, but they said—”

  Jordan shook his head. “I don’t care what they said. This is their problem, and they are going to sort it out. Who did you speak with at the bank?”

  Brady reached for his pad of Post-its. “Trey Layton, a clerk in their Business section.”

  Jordan smiled. “Then maybe it’s time to go over Trey’s head. With a company this size, I want to speak to someone who knows what they’re talking about. Get the bank on the phone, please. This time, I’ll take the call.”

  Brady gave a tired grin. “That might work. They weren’t intimidated by me, that’s for sure.” He got up off the floor, went to his desk, and tapped out a number on the keypad. Then he held out the handset. “Give ’em hell, boss.”

  Jordan took it and began talking. It didn’t take long before the guy on the other end was remonstrating loudly that it had nothing to do with them, that the funds weren’t showing in the account.

  “Then I suggest you get someone to check again, because if this isn’t dealt with to my satisfaction, I will be taking my business elsewhere. I’m sure there are plenty of banks in the city who would love to have Jordan Wolf Accounting on their books. You might want to think about that before you call me back.” He hung up.

  Brady laughed. “See, I can’t do that. I’m just a lowly PA. My threats cut no ice.”

  Jordan arched his eyebrows. “There is nothing about you that is lowly. So let’s put all this paperwork back where it belongs and wait for them to get their heads out of their asses.”

  “You don’t want to take a look? Check to see if I’ve missed something?”

  Jordan smiled. “I trust your judgment. If you say the mistake isn’t ours, I believe you. No, this is the bank’s mess. They can clear it up. Because if they don’t, I will raise one hell of a stink in the business community.” He got up, and they began filing papers into folders.

  Jordan had just poured himself another coffee when the phone rang. He grinned at Brady. “Showtime.”

  BRADY loved watching Jordan in full-on boss mode. The man was impressive, speaking coolly, calmly, with a patience Brady envied right then. When a huge smile broke out over Jordan’s face, Brady knew it was all over.

  “Thank you, Mr. Devon. I appreciate the call.” Jordan disconnected, replaced the handset, then grinned at Brady. “Well, what do you know? It seems there was a banking error, something to do with their computer system. Miraculously, our funds have suddenly made an appearance and are where they should be.”

  “A banking error?” Brady gaped at him. “So what was this, ‘we didn’t get the transfer of funds’ crap?”

  “That’s just standard operating procedure for business—never admit you’ve made a mistake. Amazing what happens when you get to speak to the president of the bank, isn’t it? Mr. Devon assures me it was just a computer glitch.” Jordan’s eyes gleamed. “Apparently Trey called him at home, which didn’t go down too well. I imagine Trey will be in a world of shit come Monday morning.”

  Brady got on his laptop. “I’ll email the insurance company to let them know what’s going on. At least all our employees are covered.” He heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank
you. I was going out of my mind. Sorry to ruin your Saturday morning.”

  Jordan sighed. “My Saturday was already ruined last night.”

  Brady paused in the middle of typing. “But I thought last night was great?” He’d loved every minute of it. For a moment his heart plummeted.

  Jordan groaned. “Oh God, I’m sorry. No, believe me, last night was great, right up until the moment when my mom invited me to dinner this evening.”

  “What’s so awful about dinner?”

  “Nothing—until you factor in my mom and sister colluding to set me up with some guy.”

  Brady grinned. “Aw. Seriously?” Did families still do that? Thank God his parents had never tried. Sure, they dropped hints on a regular basis, such as asking when he was going to settle down, when he was going to bring someone special to meet them, and so on. He figured his mom knew what would happen if she tried to fix him up with someone.

  There would be Words.

  “Well, I’m pretty certain that’s what they’re doing. It wouldn’t be the first time. And this is not funny.”

  Brady hastily straightened his features.

  Just then Jordan’s phone pinged, and he peered at the screen. His face fell as he shoved the phone into his jeans pocket. “Sometimes I hate being right.” He shook his head. “A text from my sister, telling me she can’t wait for me to meet her coworker, Corbin. She’s sure I’ll ‘just love him,’” he said, air-quoting.

  The thought made Brady’s stomach clench. He knew it was stupid, but the idea of Jordan meeting Corbin’s gaze across a room….

  I really do have it bad, don’t I?

  Then it struck him that Jordan had grown silent. Brady regarded him in concern. Jordan was staring at him, a familiar twinkle in his eyes.

  “Brady, would you do me a really big favor?”

  Brady lifted his eyebrows. “I thought I was doing that next weekend. The Hamptons? Pretending to be your SO? Fending off the advances of all those rich women who want to—”

  “Yeah, I know, but I’ve just had an idea how to derail my mom and sister with one easy move. Only, I’d need your help.”