by Ava Miles
“She’d have to, being Georges Maroun’s daughter. He’s the shit. One of the biggest builders in the Gulf and beyond. We didn’t cross paths, but when I worked on Merriam Oil & Gas issues in that part of the world, his name came up often. He is well respected. Even a little feared, I might say.”
That tracked with what Francesca had told him. Quinn had also met the man in the flesh, once, while dating Francesca, and although he’d known many powerful men, none of them had prepared him for her father’s charismatic ruthlessness. His takeaway about her father’s character was one of the reasons he’d never told Francesca about that singular meeting. How did you tell the love of your life that you thought her father was a dick? “I figure he’d have to be a little intimidating to be successful in that part of the world. Francesca can be tough too, but she wears it differently.”
She wasn’t ruthless.
“I’d say so. Bro, you’d better have a good game plan. This isn’t a woman who will give you an easy second chance.”
He knew it. “I’m ready.”
“If you need a romance consultant, I charge a hundred an hour. Family rate.”
Quinn laughed. “Good to know.”
“You sound less grouchy already. She’s good for you. It’s clear as day.”
Quinn realized he did feel lighter. This conversation proved it. He also felt an excitement for life he hadn’t had in a while. “I can’t disagree.”
“We’re going to help you win her back. Anything you need, bro. Remember I can be charming. I’ll roll out sweet stories about you being my older brother.”
“You have stories like that?” He blinked in surprise.
“Yeah… Sure. I mean, you were the one who put me on my first bike and ran beside me until I could balance it alone.”
The bike had been blue, he remembered, and J.T. had begged him for help. Since he loved the freedom of riding a bike himself, he’d stepped up. “You were a natural. Trevor, not so much.”
“Yeah, his balance was awful back then,” J.T. said, laughing. “Let’s hope his kids don’t get that gene. Thank God he grew out of it.”
He didn’t often think of those easy days, growing up with his sisters and brothers in their family home in Napa—and he sure as hell didn’t dredge them up out of nostalgia—but he found he was grateful for them. “Mom and Dad did a good job by us.”
“Mom mostly, but Dad is trying to catch up. Did you know he’s talked Michaela and Boyd into letting him go on their next trip to Kenya? He wants to visit the Maasai village that protects the Valley of Stars flowers.” The elusive healing flowers had drawn Michaela and the others to Kenya. Aunt Clara and Uncle Arthur were allies of the village, and Michaela and Boyd were developing the flower’s healing properties. But not for Merriam. “Can you see Dad trekking in the bush?”
“Not really, but you have to admire it somehow.”
“Yeah, you do. Hey! This was…good, man. We should do this more often.”
Quinn knew what he meant. “Yeah. I’ll have you over for steaks when you arrive. We can do a whiskey tasting. Anything you want.”
“That would be great. Okay, call your matchmakers, man. Your woman beckons. Ah… Any problem with me telling Trev about her and you? Or are you planning on telling everyone individually? The minute people hear about Aunt Clara and Uncle Arthur, they’ll know something is up. Since you’re usually so private about things, I’m not sure they’ll ask you directly.”
No, they might not, he supposed. Some of his family members might be upset he hadn’t said anything about her, but he’d never been good at expressing his emotions, and it had only become worse after Francesca had left him. If it had been daunting to share how much she meant to him, it had been more so to communicate how badly losing her had destroyed him. Shutting off that side of himself had helped dull the pain. So had work. “Tell Trev. Sure. Saves me a call. I’ll deal with the others if I need to.”
“You make it sound dire, man. They’re going to be happy for you—and they’ll feel the same kind of righteous indignation I do about what happened to you two in London fifteen years ago. I wish… I wish I’d known, man. I’d have come to London and taken you pub crawling or something.”
He got choked up, hearing that. The grief of losing her had nearly broken him, and he’d borne it alone. “All right, enough of all this brotherly love. If we keep it up, I’ll have to move Merriam HQ to Philadelphia since it’s their motto.”
“Being a sap looks good on you, Quinn,” J.T. said, laughing. “See ya, bro.”
“See ya, J.T., and thanks.”
He ended the call and noted his assistant had left a message for him to call her. Marian Fong and he were still learning each other’s rhythms, but he appreciated her brevity and efficiency, exactly as Connor had described it. “Yes, Marian?” he said when he rang her.
“I have the background piece on Alice Bailey you requested, sir,” she said crisply. “I also emailed it to you.”
He didn’t say she’d managed it faster than he’d expected. It would insult her. “Your impression, Ms. Fong?”
“She is a unique person with a rare and diverse skill set. Incredible academic performance. Numerous awards for everything from cooking classes to martial arts and foreign languages as well as debate and chess. She notes additional training in high-level business contracts, mergers, and acquisitions. She is also well versed in business and personal etiquette and has high-level training in hospitality management.”
Francesca had always had an eye for talent. “I’ll look forward to seeing her file. Any family?”
“No, both her parents passed away in a car accident when she was in college. She’s an only child.”
“Thank you, Ms. Fong.”
“You’re welcome, sir. Anything else?”
“Not right now. I have another call to make. Then you can release my schedule again. Let the wolves in.”
She didn’t laugh. Was it because he’d inherited Connor’s nickname of the Big Bad Wolf? “Very good, Mr. Merriam. I’ll stand by.”
When he hung up, he pulled up the email and read about Alice Bailey. She was another girl from the Chicago area—much like his mother and Connor’s fiancée, Louisa. He knew what that meant. She didn’t look tough, but then again, neither did his mother or Louisa at first glance. But looks could be deceiving. They were both as tough and loyal as they came.
The picture surprised him. Alice looked like a corporate pixie. He could see the intelligence in her big dark eyes, but the twinkle in them was equally apparent. That twinkle suggested she enjoyed celebrating life as much as Francesca always had. Was that why they worked so well together? And was she really capable of blocking him from being with Francesca romantically? He supposed he’d find out.
Now all he needed to do was bring the matchmaking trio on to handle her.
Chapter 4
Arthur Hale had never much cared for yoga.
At least not until he married Clara. Three mornings out of the week he sipped his coffee and pretended to read the newspaper, but he mostly watched her twist herself into pretzel-like configurations. Never had he imagined they would be so tantalizing, but at eighty, he was old enough to know life threw out surprises from time to time.
Her phone started squawking, interrupting his good humor. “Clara, can’t you ever silence your phone? Woman, how can your yoga inspire all that Zen stuff if you’re still plugged in to technology?”
Her response was an amused look, and then she was falling forward into a headstand. He had to admire her. She was turning eighty next month, but there was no question she was living her best life.
“Will you see who it is, dear?” she asked. “Hargreaves is upstairs.”
“Balderdash.” Arthur set his mug down and squinted at the phone. “It’s Quinn.”
“Well, pick it up. He never calls. Always working, that one.”
Since she was still upside down, he scowled at her but picked up the call. “Clara Merriam Hale’s phone. How can I help you
?”
“Oh, Arthur,” she said, folding down like a stepladder and coming out of her headstand. “Put him on speaker.”
He cursed again but did as she wanted. Marital peace and all. “Quinn! You’re on speaker, my boy. How are things?”
“Hello, dear!” Clara added. “I’m doing yoga. Speak up so I can hear you across the room.”
“Clara, let the man get a word in.” Arthur unfurled from the chair and walked over to his wife. “And stop rolling around on the floor. It’s distracting.”
“It sounds like you two need a break from the routine,” Quinn said finally. “How about an early trip to San Francisco? I need some help.”
Clara and Arthur’s eyes met. Now they were talking.
“With my soulmate,” Quinn added.
Clara clapped her hands and sat on her calves. “Wonderful news! Arthur, dear, you lost this bet.”
Yeah, he’d expected Quinn to hold out longer. “Who’s the lucky girl?” he asked.
“I’ll ignore the news that you two placed a bet on my love life. She’s someone I knew in graduate school and never forgot. I hired her to help with the Merriam restructuring. She’s the best in the business.”
“What’s her name?” Clara asked, rising.
“Francesca Maroun.”
Arthur watched as she rushed over and picked up her tablet, tapping in what he knew must be an internet search. “Clara, we can look her up later.”
“Oh, but she’s so elegant. Look, Arthur.” She jammed the tablet under his nose.
He had to concur, what with all that black hair and those arresting eyes. She was a looker, but beyond her obvious elegance, he could see her intelligence and a core of steel.
“Why is everyone surprised by that?” Quinn sounded flabbergasted. “Never mind. She’s a little gun-shy after all of these years, and she’s brought along her own chaperone to keep me in line while we work.”
Arthur let out a laugh. “A chaperone? I like her already.”
“Me too,” Clara said, taking the phone from Arthur and putting it closer to her mouth. “What do you want help with? Submarining the chaperone?”
“Who says that anymore, Clara? Quinn, we’ll come and do our usual duties and stick around for the wedding.”
“Actually, I was hoping you could pretend I’d asked you to come as additional chaperones. All three of you, Hargreaves included.”
This time Arthur snorted. “Helping the woman feel even more safe from your attentions. I like it. You have my vote.”
Clara settled her hands against her magenta leggings. “I don’t like the subterfuge.”
“Yet you were just talking about submarining the other chaperone. Clara, keep consistent.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, which had him responding in kind.
“From what I know of her chaperone—whom she calls a personal assistant—I’d say she’s the female version of Hargreaves. Albeit decades younger.”
“Indeed, Master Quinn,” Hargreaves said from the doorway in his stuffiest British accent. “I heard my name being used and decided to enter the conversation.”
“Decades younger!” Arthur said, tickled by the thought of a female Hargreaves. “How young are we talking here, Quinn?”
“Twenty-eight. Her name is Alice Bailey, and she’s from the Chicago area. I’ll send you the particulars, but she might be a match for Hargreaves in cooking, languages, and martial arts.”
“No one is a match for Hargreaves,” Clara said, striding over to her faithful butler and patting him on the arm. “But send the information.”
“We’ll see about that,” Arthur said, casting a mocking smile at the butler.
They’d become friends—unspoken, of course. Clara loved them both, and she was the glue between them. If that weren’t enough, Hargreaves did everything he could to help the Merriams. He treated them as if they were his own flesh and blood. Family was everything in Arthur’s mind, so he appreciated Hargreaves’ devotion. It made him a good egg.
“I am eager to meet Miss Bailey as well, Master Quinn,” Hargreaves said, always polite.
“I’d love you out here as early as next week. J.T. is taking over as CEO until Francesca and I finish the restructuring. No later than the end of February. Of course, the faster I win her over, the faster you can go home.”
“Skedaddle, you mean.” His great-niece, Caroline, would miss her husband, but if J.T. needed to help out, they’d manage it. Man, Arthur got tears in his eyes, seeing the younger generation support one another. He could die a happy man knowing they’d all circle the wagons when times got tough.
“We’ll fly out with J.T.,” Clara said, casting a glance at Hargreaves, who nodded.
Arthur had expected no different. When Clara set her mind to something, he and Hargreaves tagged along.
“Wonderful. I’ll figure out accommodations after telling Francesca about you coming out.”
“Lay it on thick, Quinn,” Arthur said with a chortle. “Your woman sounds like a tough cookie.”
“I know who I’m dealing with. Thank you for coming. I… Thank you.”
The uncharacteristic emotion in his voice had tears popping into Clara’s eyes. “We’ll help you win her back. I promise, Quinn.”
“Make sure you get a haircut and a new suit,” Arthur teased to steer the conversation out of emotional territory. He knew Quinn wasn’t comfortable with such talk. The man wasn’t easy hugging his own sisters, for heaven’s sake, or Clara, who tended to coo while hugging the other Merriams. Arthur was okay with forsaking a hug, truthfully, respecting each man’s comfort level. “Women like that kind of thing.”
“Oh, Arthur,” Clara said, wiping her eyes.
He dug out a handkerchief and walked over to her, dabbing at the tears. All her cooing aside, it touched him to see her love for her Merriam nieces and nephews. She may have been estranged from her family for years, but she was making up for lost time.
“My A game is ready. See you next week. Thanks, again.”
The phone call ended, and Clara sniffed. “He lost his soulmate. So many years of separation. Arthur, I know what that feels like.”
“Clara, we weren’t right for each other when we first met. Maybe the time wasn’t right for them either, back then, but it is now. Come on, there’s no need to fall into despair. You won our little bet about Quinn, and I have no doubt he’ll be our seventh Merriam success story.” He didn’t mention he’d had others with his own family. It chapped her hide to have missed them.
“We should take our talent on the road.” She wrapped her arms around his neck while Hargreaves turned his head discreetly away. “No one should live out their days alone and without love.”
He patted her fanny and kissed her cheek. “No, they shouldn’t.”
“Hargreaves, do you think we’re still safe to travel?” Clara asked.
Arthur scowled. Clara and Hargreaves were obsessed with a mysterious pneumonia-like virus in China, currently raging in a city named Wuhan. Thailand had also reported a case, which suggested it was spreading. Arthur didn’t know what reports Hargreaves had access to from his father’s former work with British intelligence, and he wasn’t asking just yet. But Hargreaves and Clara feared it would become a global pandemic even worse than the 1918 Spanish flu. They’d dispatched small packages containing dried healing flowers from the Valley of Stars to every family member on both the Merriam and Hale sides, thirty packages in total for personal use only. The other flowers they’d gathered were being tested for public safety and consumption by Michaela and Boyd’s company.
Arthur thought they were going overboard. No, he prayed they were.
A global pandemic would have far-reaching health and economic effects. No one wanted to see that happen.
He was a journalist, and something about the whole thing made the back of his neck tighten. That sensation usually hinted at a big story. So he was keeping an eye on things and monitoring daily reports.
“From my ongoing
research, Madam,” Hargreaves said, “the matter still seems to be contained to China with that one case in Thailand.”
“I pray it stays that way, Hargreaves,” Clara said, “and that everyone affected recovers.”
“As do we all, Madam. Now, if there’s nothing else, I will begin packing for our trip to San Francisco. Would you like me to coordinate with Master J.T.?”
“We can have him and Caroline over for dinner tonight to discuss details. Thank you, Hargreaves.”
The man bowed and left the room.
Arthur noted the fear lurking in Clara’s eyes, so he pulled her into his arms. Distraction was a useful remedy when she was caught up in worry about the virus. After working on some deeply upsetting stories, Arthur had come to the realization that he couldn’t let the news yank his chain; it would only make for unhappy days. He’d have to help her with that.
“Well, Clara, we have our last matchmaking gig with the Merriams. Let’s make it count, eh?”
She wrapped her arms around him tightly, and he stroked her long white hair. “It will be the best of all our assignments,” she said, getting into the spirit of things like usual.
By God, he hoped that was true.
Chapter 5
The insistent knocking on the front door had Francesca thinking something was wrong.
It was shortly after seven in the morning. Alice must have gone for a run, or she would have answered it. Francesca hated answering the door in her robe, but the sharp staccato knocks suggested urgency.
When she opened it, she had to use all her diplomatic training to prevent an unladylike curse. Quinn was standing in the morning fog, his white shirt casually open at the collar. The sexy smile on his face was all the more provocative with his five o’clock shadow. His dark hair curled at the ends, signaling he’d finger-combed it out of the shower, and those green eyes of his were direct and filled with spice. This was his weekend look, the one she’d always loved, and he damn well knew it. “Are you lost? Insane? I thought something had happened. It’s seven in the morning, Quinn.”