McClellan Billionaires: The Complete Series

by North, Leslie

  Rosalie closed, then reopened, her eyes, but the result was the same. Two pink lines.

  She was pregnant.

  "Rosalie?" Connor's voice cut through the emotions storming inside her. "What is that?"

  "This?" She held the test out for him. "I'm pregnant, Connor. It's yours."

  3

  The world slid sideways. But Connor wasn't about to slide with it. "Pregnant?" he repeated, his mouth feeling out the word.

  Rosalie only frowned and jabbed her finger again at the test. Positive.

  Connor studied the two lines as intently as he would a frustrating piece of code. His years in business had taught him to analyze his feelings before acting on them. It kept him calm and even-keeled. He didn't lash out like his cousin Arthur or button himself up until erupting in one angry tirade like his grandfather. No, he approached feelings with the same rational logic as everything else. Acting wasn't efficient until one had predicted the outcome.

  So what did he feel? Surprise, shock … worry over the possible HR nightmare.

  But underneath … excitement.

  His mouth stretched upward in a grin. "You're pregnant?"

  Rosalie stared at him, mouth gaping. "You're not … freaking out?" Her voice wavered.

  In all the years they'd worked together, Rosalie had been the one keeping him calm, but now it appeared time to return the favor. Lifting his hand, he twined his finger in her hair as he'd done that night in the lodge. "I'm not." He tucked the strand behind her ear before cupping her chin in his hand, tilting her face upward. "I'm happy."

  Once again, the connection he felt looking into her eyes intoxicated him. "I'm actually excited. A baby?" He leaned in, seeking her lips. "That's amazing."

  At her soft gasp of surprise, his mouth met hers. Connor slid his hand into her hair, tilting her head to deepen the slow, perfect kiss. His tongue brushed against hers, and he felt like everything was shifting into place. The incident with the flowers had been unfortunate but was behind them now.

  They worked well together. They were a good team, and good teams made good parents. Sure, having the kid first was a little out of order, but there was no denying that he liked Rosalie. He liked her charm and her gentleness, her lilac shampoo and her generous curves.

  Moreover, he liked the idea of the two of them together.

  They'd been great business partners. Great bed partners. Why not actual partners?

  He pulled back, ready to tell her his decision. Their relationship may have started out as fake, but that night at the lodge—and now their baby—had made it real.

  A real relationship.

  He'd never really had one. But she'd show him what to do, he was sure. Just like always. She'd show him how to be a great boyfriend, and he already knew she'd be a wonderful girlfriend.

  It was a logical plan. He couldn’t wait to see how happy she’d be when he told her.

  "Rosalie—"

  His words died at the hardness in her eyes.

  She stepped back and smoothed her shirt. Clasping her hands behind her back—a formal pose he recognized from when she spoke to hesitant clients—she smiled. "I'm happy you're happy, Connor." Her tone was brisk, business-like. "But as far as I'm concerned, this doesn't change anything between us."

  Connor's stomach dropped. "Of course it does. Don't be silly."

  She shook her head. "I said I was done."

  "Done with faking a relationship. I get that. But like you said, this isn't fake." He lifted the test again.

  She winced, took it from him, and wrapped it in toilet paper. "Can we get out of the bathroom? I'm uncomfortable talking about this in here."

  "What exactly are we talking about?" Connor followed her back into her all-white kitchen. The only color came from the riot of blooms arranged in the windows. He noted, with chagrin, not a single carnation was in the mix.

  "I don't want to pretend to be your girlfriend for Ed Coney." Rosalie’s voice strained but her expression stayed firm.

  Connor shook his head. "Then don't pretend. Be my girlfriend."

  Her eyes widened in clear exasperation. "It's not that simple."

  "I'd say it is. We're having a baby together. Together, Rosalie, as in, we're together." Damn, he needed Jenny to write a better speech for him. He was flubbing this. Why couldn't he write Rosalie a program? If baby, then girlfriend.

  “I'd say that's a decision we need to make together." Sarcasm dripped from her voice.

  Connor pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is this about the flowers still? I'm sorry, okay? It was a mistake and I'll learn from it."

  "Learn what?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

  "To check up on Jenny more often. This isn't the first error she's made." She was the daughter of one of his mother’s friends and her eagerness often outweighed her professionalism. Realistically, he should have let her go long ago, but every time he would bring it up, his mother would guilt him into keeping her on. Perhaps this was the impetus he needed to find her another position in the company. One with fewer responsibilities. "She's in over her head anyway. I should find her another position in the company, something better suited for her. Being my secretary means there's no room for error."

  "Is that what you think this is about?"

  "I have no idea, because you're not telling me." Connor sighed and grabbed her wrists to trace circles over her pulse. "Look, Rosalie. You know me. I don't make mistakes. This? Isn't a mistake, okay? It's an opportunity." He tried a grin on for size. "Seeing opportunities is kind of my specialty, right? That's why I'm successful. I'm a business success. I'm pretty damn sure that means I can be a success as a father too."

  He lifted her hand to his lips, needing to press a kiss to her soft skin, but she yanked her hand away. "I'm pretty damn sure it means the exact opposite of that."

  "What?"

  "You're obsessed with your business. You don't notice anything—anything—unless it relates to your work."

  He didn't understand the deep hurt in her voice. Had he put it there? How? He was doing everything he could. "I don't think that's true."

  "Then why do you need me to remember everyone's names?"

  "It's just more efficient that way! It doesn't make logical sense for us both to waste brain space. You take care of names and personal touches; I take care of the tech. It's a system run at peak efficiency." He searched her pale face. "But … I mean, if you think it's important that I remember names, I guess I could try—Rosalie?" Her lips were pressed together, white. "Are you okay?"

  Clapping her hand over her mouth, she whirled and dashed for the toilet.

  "Shit." He hurried after her. When she tried shutting the door in his face, he caught it with his elbow and threw it back open. "Oh, Rosalie. Oh—shit, I'm so—shit."

  He dropped to his knees and gathered her hair away from her face as she retched miserably into the bowl.

  "No," she groaned, batting his hands away. Rejecting him. Just as he'd decided to go all in, she was literally pushing him away. He didn't know what to do. This wasn't winning, and Connor didn’t know how to lose.

  Dropping back on his heels, all he could do was rub circles on her back as she threw up. All because of his baby.

  He'd never felt so helpless in his life.

  4

  Rosalie was running late, but for the first time in perhaps forever, she wasn’t panicking.

  Usually she was first in the office. She hated waking up early, but she hated disappointing people even more. Since taking the position of outreach manager, she'd made it a point to head out every morning before seven, just to stop by the artisan doughnut shop. The box would sit at the edge of her desk all day long, bringing by co-workers who would oh and ah, saying that they shouldn't only to take a “Luscious Loop” or “Frosted Fantasy.”

  She’d told herself she didn't mind the interruption. That making her co-workers happy was worth it: the expense, the five thirty wake-up, the long line at the shop.

  But after yesterday? S
he’d realized she was wrong. So wrong.

  Being nice hadn't gotten her anywhere. Everyone in the office—hell, everyone in the company—walked all over her. It was time she stood up for herself. By sleeping in.

  Leaving her townhouse in the full sunlight felt strange. She smiled as the rays kissed her shoulders, straightening them—

  Only to steady herself against the car door at another wave of nausea.

  She cupped her hand protectively around her belly. She knew the new softness around her midsection had to be her imagination. No way was she getting bigger already. Yet her heart swelled, her determination doubling at the feeling.

  Demanding her due would be hard; she knew herself well enough to recognize that. But she wasn't doing it for just herself.

  She slid carefully behind the wheel and adjusted her rearview mirror. "Right," she addressed her reflection. "One more time."

  Pulling out of the steep drive to navigate the back roads to the office, she rehearsed her speech one more time. Just to be sure. "Dean Custer has done an admirable job as regional outreach manager, and I've worked closely with him ever since coming on board with McClellan. With his retirement just around the corner, I feel like I'm the perfect—no, scratch that." She shook her head, reminding herself to be firm. "I'm the only viable candidate to take over his position."

  She sounded good giving the speech to herself. The question was, would Connor agree?

  She cupped her belly again. "It has to work."

  After sliding into her parking space, she walked up to the doors.

  The spot closest was taken up by a sleek Maserati. She swallowed hard. She hadn't planned on Connor arriving before her—that’s what she got for not coming in early.

  Closing her eyes, she relived the humiliation of being sick in front of him. She'd wanted to argue, make him understand that their arrangement was over. He couldn't use her whenever he wanted and then forget she existed until the next client meeting. Not anymore. She was putting her foot down.

  Instead, she'd endured his tender touch and soothing words while retching miserably.

  Goddammit. How was he so clueless? Why was it so endearing?

  "No." She cut off that line of thought. If she lingered on his crooked smile or thick head of unruly hair, she'd lose her nerve, and she couldn't afford that.

  When she strode into the office, Anna looked up expectantly. At Rosalie's empty hands, her face fell—but only a second. "Good morning. Feeling better?"

  "Yes," Rosalie lied. “Is Mr. McClellan already here?"

  "Upstairs." Anna nodded.

  "Would you mind buzzing him that I'm heading up? I'd like to see him straightaway."

  Anna covered her curious stare by running a fingernail down the list of extensions. The upstairs office was only used when Connor was in town. "Dialing," she reported.

  "Walking!" Rosalie headed off. She wouldn’t give him the chance to brush her off. Nothing he was doing this early in the morning could be more important than this.

  Perched high in the upper level, an addition floating above the other offices, Connor’s office always reminded Rosalie of the world's fanciest tree-house. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open his door and inhaled wood, leather, and the deep musk that screamed Connor to her brain.

  When he set down his phone, her resolve wavered at his happy smile—if only for a second. "Good morning! You can shut the door."

  As soon as she did, his smile faded, a look of concern replacing it. Leaping from his chair, he moved so quickly that she almost stepped back in instinct. "How are you?" His hand passed protectively over her belly—not touching her but claiming her all the same.

  She stiffened. She hadn't counted on his tenderness when rehearsing her speech. "I'm better. Do you have a minute to talk?"

  "Of course, I do." His hand moved, as if he wanted to touch her again, before dropping. "Sit. Get off those heels. They can't be good for you."

  She reluctantly allowed him to guide her to a seat. She expected him to settle back behind his desk, but instead, he dragged his heavy chair around to face her. As an equal.

  She hadn't counted on that either. "We need to talk," she repeated. Her carefully rehearsed speech had fled from her brain.

  He nodded. "Of course we do. Have you made an appointment with your OB/GYN yet? I'm assuming you already have one, but if you'd like me to ask around for some recommendations, I can find you the top doctors—"

  She held up her hand. "Not about the baby." She hesitated. "Well, actually, sort of."

  Connor's eyebrows furrowed. "Let's start over again?"

  She took a deep breath, tried to recall her speech, and failed. Decided to just wing it, she licked her lips and went for it.

  "I need to provide for this child. That's why I want you to promote me to regional outreach manager. Right now."

  * * *

  Of all the things she could have asked him for. Money, connections, a donation to a college to ensure their child's Ivy League education? He would have done all that and more.

  But the regional outreach manager position would put her in the LA office. Under the direct supervision of his VP, Mitch.

  Out of his reach.

  He shook his head. "I don't think that's the wisest idea, Rosalie."

  "I'm the only one qualified, and you know it."

  "It's not a matter of qualifications—"

  "What else could it be?"

  He racked his brain, absently rubbing the back of his neck. "Tell you what; let's table this discussion until after the Coney deal. How about that?"

  He was proud of his diplomacy. But Rosalie only leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and giving him a decidedly hostile glare. "No. I told you already. I'm not going to fake a relationship with you. Not anymore."

  He'd had the same feeling when the Coney deal first went south. The helplessness of what he wanted slipping through his fingers. Except, somehow, this felt so much worse.

  "Okay." He sat back in his chair, his mind whirling, and held her gaze. She didn't look away, which was unusual. She usually broke eye contact first, tossing her hair and giving a nervous but eager smile. Today she just stared back, steel in her eyes, stirring something in him. He'd always respected Rosalie for being a quick-witted hard-worker.

  This respect was new. He desperately wanted—no, needed—to explore it. "I have a proposition for you."

  She pressed her lips together. "You heard me, right Connor?"

  "I heard you. I'm not going to ask you to fake anything." He leaned forward, settling his elbows on his knees, in hopes she would feel the full weight of his sincerity. "I want you to help me with the Coney deal. Consider it an audition for the position of regional outreach manager."

  "Help you how?"

  "By doing what you always do," he told her. "But this time you're not going to pretend." He swallowed. "And neither am I."

  Her eyes widened a fraction. He’d expected more of a reaction, but Rosalie kept herself steady. She unfolded her arms and leaned forward, mimicking his pose. "We're not going to fake a relationship?"

  He brushed his fingers across her knuckles. When she didn't pull away, he pressed further, entwining his fingers with hers, holding tight. Her soft skin distracting him from the case he wanted to make, he jerked his focus back to the present. "For one week, this thing we have will be for real. I'll be your"—he hesitated—"boyfriend."

  Her eyes showed amusement. "For one week?"

  "Consider this my audition for the role."

  "You want to be considered for the part of my boyfriend?"

  "I think I could play it well."

  She tilted her head again, as if looking in his soul and judging it lacking. The thought annoyed him. "You haven't seen me at my best, I'll admit. But I intend to woo you, Rosalie."

  "Woo?" she echoed with a laugh. "Who uses that word anymore?"

  "I'm not great with words."

  "Or flowers."

  "Yes," he agreed testily. "We've establish
ed that. But give me a chance to prove myself."

  "And if I let you—" She paused. "Woo me, I'll get a chance to prove I deserve that promotion?"

  "Fine."

  She stood up and held out her hand. "Let's shake on it."

  Connor laughed. "Given the circumstances, I was about to suggest we seal the deal with a kiss."

  Flicking her tongue across her bottom teeth, she grabbed his hand and shook it.

  5

  Rosalie managed to hold it together, right up until Anna popped her head up from her desk. Her riotous blonde curls were already wiggling free of the bun she always tried capturing them in. Anna's exuberant hair matched her personality perfectly—there was no keeping it, or her, down.

  Especially when she’d caught the scent of juicy gossip. "What was that all about?" she hissed.

  "Emergency walk."

  Anna dug in her purse for the battered pack of cigarettes she kept on hand for such occasions. "I'm going out for coffee!" she announced for the benefit of any eavesdroppers. "Hey, Rosalie, do you want anything?"

  "I'm coming too!" Rosalie echoed, just as loudly. Did anyone ever wonder why she and Anna never came back with any coffees? A week ago, the thought would have worried her.

  She had much more important matters on her mind now.

  Her palm still tingled from Connor's handshake, her lips aching for the kiss she'd denied them. Had she been crazy to accept this ludicrous plan? Even if it meant a promotion at the end?

  For the sake of her career, she needed to push down her feelings.

  But it was really hard to do when she’d felt them for so long.

  She'd first seen Connor McClellan at the yearly staff retreat in New York City. After joining McClellan Technology Group only six weeks before, she still very much had felt like the new girl. The other members of the then-new Aspen office had all been hired together, and while not explicitly hostile, they did seem to forget that she wasn't in on all their private jokes and shared references. Her loneliness had led to her lying awake night after night, dreaming up new ways to win them over and make them like her. Traveling to New York City—a place she'd only seen on television beforehand—had made her feel even more like a fish out of water.