The Playboy's Office Romance

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  She couldn’t quit staring, couldn’t drag her gaze away from his tanned and brawny chest, the hard knot of muscles in his arms, the taut planes of his stomach, the deep vee of gold-brown chest hair, the contrast of white toweling against his skin. Who would have thought the new CEO could be so perfectly put together?

  “That sounded rather…personal,” he said, rubbing the towel down and across his chest.

  She followed the movement with her eyes, belatedly coming to herself and irritated that the sight of his body had flustered her. “I needed something off your desk and Nell was somewhere else so when the phone rang, I picked it up and it was, uh, yes, personal. Sorry, I didn’t realize you were here.”

  “A common misconception on your part.” He tossed the towel into the bathroom and reached for the blue oxford shirt slung across the office sofa. “Trouble at home?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” she said, immediately on the defensive.

  “That wasn’t what I asked.”

  “This is business,” she said. “That’s personal. I never mix the two.”

  Bryce shrugged into the shirt, one sleeve at a time, regarding her with a skeptical gaze. “Adam did that, too, kept life from interfering with business. Then he learned the difference between what’s important and what’s not.”

  “That, of course, would be a matter of opinion.” She twisted the pages in her hand, tried to ignore the casually provocative way he buttoned his shirt, cuffs first, leaving his chest bare and exposed for another few minutes. “And don’t bother to suggest the right man will come along and change my perspective because that isn’t going to happen.”

  He regarded her for a moment, then began buttoning the shirt from the bottom up, without hurrying and without the slightest discomfort at dressing in front of her. “What about Cal?”

  Another rush of defensiveness straightened her spine. “What about him?”

  “Hasn’t he changed your perspective, at least a little?”

  “If you’re saying I’m not a hundred percent focused on my job, you could not be more wrong.”

  “Whoa there, Joan of Arc. I wasn’t criticizing you or your commitment to Braddock Industries. I was simply asking how you’re doing, managing your work and your nephew. No offense intended.”

  “None taken,” she snapped, although she felt plenty offended. As much because of his state of undress as anything he’d said. “And I’m managing just fine, thank you.”

  He nodded. “If you need a more flexible schedule, some time off—”

  “I don’t, thanks,” she said, interrupting, on the defensive again. “I was late a couple of days, but that problem has been resolved now. It won’t happen again.”

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  She knew he was right, and was determined he wouldn’t be. “It won’t happen again,” she repeated.

  He was quiet as he buttoned the next to last button, leaving the collar open. “You know, Lara, this job isn’t that important.”

  “Not to you, certainly. It is very important to me, however, and whatever you may have overheard just now, I assure you, it’s a personal matter and I will deal with it in my off-hours.”

  “Children don’t just fit into off-hours.”

  “Is this something you know from experience?” A snide note slipped into her voice, accusing him of both immorality and ignorance, though she knew he was neither. He was concerned about her nephew, about her and somehow that scared her into a more defensive stance. “Something you actually know anything about, Bryce?”

  “I know what it’s like to have a mother who has more important things to do and a father who can’t get his act together. Your nephew and I have a few things in common.”

  She held back a scoffing laugh before it could escape. “Your situation is hardly comparable to Calvin’s,” she said. “You grew up at Braddock Hall. You had a stable family life.”

  “So does Cal.” Bryce held her gaze. “He has you.”

  She wanted to believe that and was equally terrified it might be true. “Temporarily, anyway.” She tamped the papers on the desk, deciding this uncomfortable conversation had to end before she started believing he was actually a caring kind of guy. “Nell is away from her desk,” she said, indicating all personal discussion was over, reclaiming her crisp, no-nonsense, all-business voice. “Otherwise, I’d have asked her to get this for me.” Indicating the proposal in her hand, she felt she’d segued past the personal and covered herself adequately at the same time so she started toward the door.

  “What is that?”

  “Just a proposal.” She barely paused. No way was she going to explain why she’d switched his copy for her own.

  “You did a nice job on the Nations Group prospectus,” he said, surprising her.

  She turned at the door. “You read it?”

  “Isn’t that why you gave it to me?” He calmly unzipped his pants and began stuffing his shirttail inside.

  She couldn’t believe he’d read it, couldn’t believe she was pleased by his compliment, couldn’t believe he was so casual about dressing right in front of her. She, especially, couldn’t believe she was so mesmerized by him that when she meant to sound outraged, her voice instead came out in a flustered, breathy rush. “Yes, but I made some changes last night and…” She gathered her composure once again. “Does this mean you’re planning to attend this morning’s meeting?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” His grin packed its usual mischievous glimmer. “I even sent Nell out for donuts.”

  “I brought a coffee cake from Queenie’s.”

  “Great, we’ll have both.”

  Somehow that outraged her almost as much as his getting dressed. Getting dressed in front of her, she mentally corrected. “That’s not necessary. The coffee cake will be plenty.”

  He zipped up and slipped a belt through his belt loops, buckling it with the ease of long practice. “I like donuts,” he said.

  “Nations may be a small company, but I believe we should treat them as professionally as if they were much larger.”

  “So, in your opinion, coffee cake is more professional?”

  “Yes. Donuts are…well, they’re chintzy.”

  His smile was slow and the backs of her knees developed an annoyingly weak twitch. “Do you realize you’re arguing with me about donuts?”

  He was right. Absolutely. He’d lured her into a ridiculous argument and like an idiot, she’d gone for it. But then, this wasn’t really about donuts at all. “This is my project, Bryce. Adam trusted me to handle it.”

  “I have the utmost faith in your capabilities, Lara. I just want to have donuts at the meeting.”

  She smiled tightly, knowing she should give in gracefully on this nonissue and fight for more important things down the road. But she didn’t feel like giving in. “I’m good at what I do, Bryce. You need to trust me when I tell you I have the experience to handle these clients and that I certainly know how a meeting such as this one ought to proceed.”

  “And I don’t….”

  Now she could afford to be gracious. “You’ve only been here a couple of weeks.”

  He considered her point. “Okay, great, you handle Sam and I’ll just eat donuts and observe how a meeting ought to proceed.”

  Lara was good. She picked up on the one word with significance. “Sam? You know Sam Engersoll? Personally?”

  The mischief in his smile strengthened to full measure. “I beat Sam fair and square in the Block Island Regatta four years ago, no matter what he says to deny it.”

  “A friend of yours,” she confirmed, telling herself it made no difference whatsoever. Friends or not, the bottom line with clients was still business. And she knew her business. “Do you know Brian Talbot, too?”

  “We may have met. I’m not sure.” He moved closer to her, making her unaccountably nervous the nearer he came, but she stood her ground, despite the unsettling Jell-O-like feeling in her knees. “I do know that Sam…” he continued, nea
r enough now that his warm breath brushed her face. “…likes…” The scent of soap, a recent shower and a subtle hint of after-shave were all caught and identified as nice. Very nice. “…donuts.”

  He held her gaze, but she, who was always, always, in control, couldn’t even seem to catch her breath. She thought he was going to kiss her. The idea floated like a feather across her consciousness. Light and possible and lovely even in its anticipation.

  “In fact, Sam is something of a donut connoisseur,” Bryce continued, stepping around her to reach his desk when she didn’t move out of his way. “That’s why I sent Nell out to hunt down his favorites.”

  Lara returned to reality with a crash, blinking at the sheer absurdity of those few seconds, of her bizarre reaction. Obviously, she wasn’t getting enough sleep. “The meeting starts in ten minutes,” she said crisply although she had no idea what time it actually was. “I’ll see you there.”

  Then she got out of his office, hoping for some stupid reason, that at least one person from the Nations Group would prefer coffee cake over donuts.

  SHE WASN’T JUST GOOD, she was phenomenal.

  Bryce sat through the meeting, restlessly twisting his chair from side to side, drinking coffee, eating donuts and watching Lara wind Sam Engersoll and his cohorts around her little finger as if they were twisty-ties. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she looked better than most men’s fantasies. Excitement at making a presentation on which she’d clearly invested a great deal of time and effort lent color to her cheeks and put an intriguing sparkle in her eyes. Her glorious hair was braided and bound at her nape, and there couldn’t be a man in the room who hadn’t, at least, a passing lust to pull out the pins and watch it tumble, wanton and wild, past her shoulders. She was dressed to kill, in or out of the office, and she had every eye in the conference room riveted on her.

  “There are a number of advantages to this option….” she was saying, forcing these half-dozen men to confront her brains as well as her beauty, convincing them with her marketing skill and enthusiasm as much as with her facts.

  He’d known she was good—Adam never surrounded himself with anything but the best and brightest. Bryce was proud to have her on his team. He was glad she was in charge of this meeting, too. Her presentation was detailed and creative, her delivery flawless, her data unimpeachable. Plus, he simply liked watching the way she moved.

  He took another bite of donut—a chocolate glazed—and then licked a glob of lemon filling that squeezed out onto his finger. A flicker of her lashes, a momentary tightening of her lips told him she disapproved of his manners, disapproved of his presence, just flat-out disapproved of him. But she smiled, as if they were not only partners in this meeting, but soul mates in the business of putting this single client’s needs above all other considerations.

  No doubt about it, she was better than good. Which almost made him a little sorry he was about to blow her right out of the water.

  “DO YOU WANT to tell me what just happened in there?”

  Bryce leaned back in his chair, letting it swivel slightly as he clasped his hands in his lap. He fought his grin to a standstill, knowing Lara was way too angry to appreciate his good humor. Fact of the matter, he was grateful the desk was wide and she was on the other side of it. She looked furious enough to do him some serious bodily harm. “What do you think happened?” he hedged.

  She braced her hands flat on the desktop, leaning toward him, her gaze a wintry mix of midnight blue and ice-cold anger. “I think you just gave your good buddy a solid gold lease on the Wyatt warehouse and agreed to do about a billion dollars’ worth of renovations. But I could be wrong. It could be two billion.”

  Bryce considered her assessment. “I can see where you might get that idea,” he said. “But if you want to know the honest truth, I’ve never really liked Sam Engersoll all that much. I definitely wouldn’t call him my good buddy.”

  Her wintry expression turned into a blizzard of contempt. “What a relief. If you liked him, you’d probably have thrown in a few stock options as a signing bonus.”

  He knew he should be ashamed of himself for enjoying her agitation. But she was so beautifully irate, so intensely personal in her dislike of him and what he’d done. He should have told her before the meeting, of course, but he’d never much believed in following the rules of protocol. And he would have so hated to miss this confrontation. “Sam seemed to like the deal,” he said, “even without stock options.”

  She gave him a look clearly meant to wither him where he sat. “He’s not stupid.”

  Meaning, of course, that Bryce clearly was.

  “If you only wanted to humiliate me, Bryce, you could have found plenty of more cost-effective ways to do it.”

  Now, he was ashamed of himself, but only because she still thought so little of him. “Have you ever heard of Triad Investments?” he asked.

  She came close—very close—to rolling her eyes. “Hasn’t everyone?”

  “Apparently, Sam Engersoll hasn’t.” Bryce glanced at his watch. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s about to change.”

  She processed the information, her expression gathering interest, understanding and blatant disbelief in a matter of seconds. “Triad is interested in the Nations Group?”

  “That’s the rumor on the streets,” Bryce said, as if he’d picked the news out of the air.

  “Not on any street I know.”

  Bryce shrugged, trying not to let his excitement show. “Maybe I should have said the rumor sailed up from Long Island Sound to Narragansett Bay.”

  Her eyes widened with surprise and a trace of his own excitement. “Holden Locke told you Triad was looking at Nations as a takeover prospect?”

  “As one of the partners in Triad, Holden doesn’t discuss what is essentially insider information with members of his yachting crew…even if they are friends.”

  “But if Holden didn’t tell you…” The sentence trailed off, but not the innuendo.

  He managed a slight smile. “I realize this will require a significant leap of imagination on your part, Lara, but I am capable of putting two and two together and coming up with a number higher than three and less than five. Holden didn’t tell me anything other than that Triad is looking to acquire some insurance holdings. Nations is ripe for a takeover. We sign Nations, we get Triad for a song and either they’ll buy out our lease or take over the whole building. The old warehouse is an albatross. It’s huge and it’s going to require extensive renovations no matter who we convince to move into it. I’ve done my research on this, talked to Granddad about it, looked over the Wyatt property, and I just have a good feeling about the deal.”

  “But you don’t know that Triad will acquire Nations.”

  “No, but I do know something about the way Holden operates and, believe me, he always looks first for opportunity close at hand.”

  “Because…?”

  “Because…the less time he has to spend traveling, the less time he has to be away from his boat.”

  She considered that with a frown. “We could be stuck holding up our end of a very expensive lease agreement for a tenant who doesn’t need even half the space.”

  He shrugged, at ease with his decision. “I never said there was no risk involved.”

  She ran a fingertip along the curve of his desk, considering the possibilities. “Adam wouldn’t do it,” she said finally. “No matter how good a feeling he had about it.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” Bryce waited, watching her, wanting her to trust him, if only a little. “This may be my first and last decision as a chief exec, but I’m taking that chance.”

  “This was my project, Bryce. You should have talked to me before you put us both out on this limb.”

  It was an unexpectedly subtle offer of support, and he accepted it with gratitude. “You’re right, Lara. I won’t do that again.”

  “See that you don’t.” Straightening, she stepped away from the desk, turning toward the door.
“I’ll square things with the other team members, let them know we want this lease pushed through as quickly as possible. I imagine we can have a signed agreement by Tuesday of next week.”

  “Unless Sam changes his mind.”

  “As I said, he’s not stupid, although with the deal you gave him, he’s got to be thinking you’re several sheets shy of full sail.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s the same thing he was thinking when I tacked windward and close-hauled past him in the Block Island regatta.” Bryce smiled. “Did I mention I won that race?”

  Wonder of wonders, she smiled back. And it was breathtaking. “Yes,” she said. “You did.”

  “Okay then,” he said. “What time are you planning to leave for Dellasandro’s tonight?”

  “Dellasandro’s?”

  “The Cinderella Ball committee meeting.”

  “Oh.” Her frown indicated she’d forgotten and wasn’t thrilled to be reminded. “I forgot. Would it be too awful if I didn’t show?”

  “Mrs. Fairchild would be very disappointed in you. As would I.”

  Lara sighed. “I can’t ask Bridget to stay late again tonight.”

  “Doesn’t she live in?”

  “Not everyone can afford round-the-clock help, you know.”

  “I just thought—”

  “—that everyone lives like the Braddocks with live-in nannies and butlers and all kinds of help. Well, that’s not the way it works for most of the world, Bryce.”

  “I thought the title of nanny indicated a full-time position. My mistake. Have you always been so quick to take offense at the slightest remark?”

  “From you, yes. Usually, you’re trying to be offensive.”

  True enough, in the past. “Well, this time I’m only trying to find out why you can’t make the meeting tonight, and if there’s something I can do to help.”

  “You can baby-sit Cal.”

  “I can locate a baby-sitter for you, if that’s the only holdup.”

  “No, thanks. My nephew has met enough strangers in the last couple of months. I’d prefer to get someone he knows. I’ll handle it.”