by Renee Wynn
“Mischa. Now don’t get riled up, honey. Mr. Sinclair and I have examined every word and it seems pretty standard to me.”
Brent narrowed his eyes when Packard issued the endearment, then gently rubbed her arm and very subtle entwined his fingers with hers.
She patted Packard’s arm with her other hand and threw him a blinding smile. “Standard, maybe to you, but I see the undercurrents that are hidden. It’s my job to take care of you.”
“I know and you do it very well.”
He rubbed her arm again, released her hand and came to his feet. “Why don’t I let you and Mr. Sinclair hash this out? It’s been a long morning and I haven’t had my second cup of coffee yet.”
Mischa came to her feet also, stopping Packard with a slight tug as he moved to walk away. Brent stood also.
“No second cup of coffee.”
“But sweetheart—“
“No second cup of coffee,” she said sternly but with obvious warmth.
He watched the loving bickering between the two and wondered again about their relationship. Were they lovers? Well, why would he care? It was none of his business. If Mischa Blake wanted a man old enough to be her grandfather, more power to her.
“I stopped in the kitchen before I came into the meeting and asked Sarah to prepare your breakfast. It should be ready by now,” she said.
Packard stopped in his tracks. “Not soft scrambled eggs and dry toast again? I want a fried egg loaded with cheddar cheese, greasy southern potatoes, and a side of crispy bacon,” he said with glee.
Mischa only lifted her perfectly arched brows and didn’t comment.
The old man moved to her, planted a kiss at the side of her mouth, and walked out of the room. She watched him exit with a smile on her face. Brent slipped his hands in his pockets and observed her unnoticed.
There was something elusive about this woman. It intrigued him but not enough to pursue. He didn’t like complications and something told him she was one complicated woman with old man Packard thrown in the mix. Besides, he didn’t go after another man’s woman. Never had to in the past and he wasn’t about to start. Well, there had been Nicole but it didn’t count. She was his before his brother poached on his territory.
Mischa turned to him, the loving smile leaving her face and nodded toward his chair. “Have a seat, Mr. Sinclair.”
She slid gracefully onto her seat, again crossing her legs. He hiked his slacks at the knees and sat.
Her gaze caught his and traveled the length of him before flitting away. But not before he witnessed the distrust written all over her face and something else he couldn’t pinpoint, maybe, disgust.
“Please call me Brent. Mr. Sinclair is my father and sometimes my brother.”
She remained silent for a moment but stiffened with tension.
“Alright. Brent it is.”
She didn’t offer for him to use her first name. He attempted one of his easy smiles but her frown deepened more. She looked like a lioness surrounded by hyenas and on guard for the attack.
He broadened his grin. Yes, indeed. There was something different about this woman. She didn’t trust easily.
“May I call you Mischa?”
Her face remained motionless, her eyes wary. They were huge and dark. A man could drown in them. She was an exotic beauty. He felt a little unbalanced by her direct stare.
Damn. There it was again, the need to run his fingers over her creamy, soft skin. How long had it been since he had been with a woman? He searched his brain for the answer and couldn’t find it. It was longer than he thought.
He reminded himself that this was business. He wasn’t looking for a roll in the hay. He could get sexual release from any number of the women listed in his cellphone contacts.
She lifted her patrician nose and gave a delicate sniff, as if she just encountered an offensive smell in the room. He stiffened but ignored it.
She was slim and statuesque. He could tell with her straight back, the tilt of her voice and expensive clothing, which looked as if they were made especially for her, she had class. Maybe being with Packard had given it to her.
Her face remained pinched, her eyes still wary. Her smooth caramel skin looked so soft, Brent wanted to reach out and touch her. Hell. He didn’t want to be attracted to the woman and he certainly didn’t want it to become a problem.
“Let’s get back to the business at hand, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Brent.”
She blinked. “What?”
“My name is Brent.”
“And I’m Ms. Blake.”
Brent laughed. She certainly had put him in his place. He liked her.
The spark of anger in her eyes gave him a scant second’s warning that she didn’t like him much. So the lady wanted to play hardball. Well, no one played it better than he did.
COMING DECEMBER 2016
ABOUT THE AUTHOR~
Renee Wynn has always been an avid reader and daydreamer. She started a journal at seven years-old. Inspired by her high school creative writing teacher, she wrote a play and the rest is history.
She lives in the northeast with her husband.
Connect with her online
http://www.reneewynn.com
Twitter @ReneeWynnBooks
http://facebook.com/reneewynn
She has other single titles available, The Heart Knows and Seasoned Just Right. However, if you enjoyed reading Whisper My Name, please purchase the others books in the series as they come available. Please post a review for other readers on Amazon, Barnes & Noble or Goodreads or other forums.
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