“First of all, I’m stronger than I look,” she said as she sat. “Something I would be glad to demonstrate any time you’d like. And second, my entire life is in that bag, so careful.”
He set her bag down on the floor beside her chair. “Was that a veiled threat to kick my ass?”
“Most days, you deserve it.” She began to unwrap the gooey goodness that was Al’s Italian Beef from the layers of white paper. “But today, you get a pass.”
Cole chuckled. “I’ll have to remember to come bearing fast food the next time I’m planning to piss you off.” He sat in the chair across from hers and lifted the dome from his own plate. Salad and poached salmon. Rebecca nearly gagged. But even her brother’s ridiculously healthy diet wasn’t going to ruin her meal. Neither was the fact that she was quite sure he was planning to offer her rent money with a side of dipped beef come the first of the month. Those days were over. She’d reluctantly let him help her with her outrageous medical bills, something he’d justified by reminding her that their father had practically built the entire hospital. Not that Rebecca wanted anything from that man. He’d abandoned her when he was alive; she certainly didn’t want his money now that he was dead. But the cold, hard facts of life were that she never could have afforded the treatment she needed without her brother’s help. He’d pleaded with her, reminding her that they’d only just found each other, and then threatened to torment her in the afterlife as only a big brother could if she didn’t give him more time with her in this one. It was an empty threat seeing as how she knew darn well her stuffed shirt of a brother didn’t believe in an afterlife, but the mere fact that he’d been willing to invoke the idea in an effort to persuade her had been enough. She’d relented and accepted his money for medical bills, but that was where she drew the line.
“How’s Olivia?” she asked before taking an enormous bite of shredded beef. In these situations, it was always better to steer the conversation away from her personal or professional life. And besides, it was much easier to listen with a mouth full of gravy-soaked bread than it was to talk.
Cole paused with a fork of salmon in midair, and all at once that wistful look was back on his normally stoic face. “Perfect,” he said.
Holy moly, her brother had it bad. That expression about the harder they fall must have been true because this was one dude who had crashed with a thud that undoubtedly registered on the Richter scale. But even for him, this was a new level of devotion.
“So,” she asked, nudging the door open for her brother to spill the beans. “Anything you want to tell me?”
“Um, no.” He shifted in his seat then ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, about what?”
Oh yeah, he was hiding something all right. The man could negotiate the hell out of a contract, but when it came to his personal life, he had no poker face at all. “Oh, I don’t know.” She wiped a bit of gravy from the corner of her mouth, then shrugged. “Any news?”
“No, not really.” He looked down, suddenly very interested in a piece of kale. “Although Olivia did want me to tell you that the menu Saturday night is Mexican. Something about a new salsa you wanted her to try?”
Rebecca nodded. “Oh sure, yeah, I’ll pick some up later this week.” She smiled to herself as she dragged a fry through the ketchup she’d smeared all over her plate. If her instincts were correct, there was a bit more to their gathering than just a few beers on the terrace. And since her instincts were hardly ever wrong, she made a mental note to stop at Lullaby Lane on her way home. A onesie in the window had caught her eye a few weeks ago, and something told her she now had a reason to buy it.
Grant Industries occupied the top six floors of a glass and steel building that cast an imposing shadow over the Chicago River. Leave it to Coleman Grant to put his headquarters in a building that looked like a giant phallic symbol. Brody stepped into the elevator, making a mental note to tease him about it—along with the fact that Trump seemed to have a bigger dick on the opposite bank—when the elevator directly across from his opened on a ping, spilling its riders into the cavernous lobby.
But it wasn’t the group of loud-talking suits that drew Brody’s attention. Or even the statuesque blonde in the red-soled shoes. It was the perky brunette who emerged from behind them. She was wearing a short floral dress instead of workout clothes, and her big blue eyes weren’t wide and innocent but rather narrowed on the screen of her smartphone, but Brody was absolutely positive it was her. So much so that it was all he could do not to push the man in front of him out of the way.
“Excuse me,” he said, clearing his throat. “I think I have the wrong elevator.”
Too late. The doors had begun to close, and the woman closest to the panel was far too loaded down with lattes and Frappuccinos to have any hope of reaching the button that would free him.
He was trapped.
Brody leaned to the left, watching his mystery woman until the very last minute. She’d stopped in the middle of the lobby, digging through a purse that was nearly half the size of her, until she found a small notebook. She’d just opened it when the doors swooshed closed, ending his view along with his hopes of getting her number, much less her name.
Then again, she did seem pretty engrossed in whatever was written on the pages of that notebook. Maybe if he hurried…
He jumped off at the first stop and immediately hit the call button for the next ride down. But by the time he made it back to the lobby, she was gone. He stood there in the middle of the marble floor as loafers shuffled and high heels clicked, looking for the tiny girl with big blue eyes who seemed to elude him at every turn. Hell, maybe he had imagined her. His hangover on Sunday had been pretty epic; maybe she was just a figment of his dehydrated brain. Of course, that didn’t explain today’s sighting. Perhaps last season’s concussion was messing with him after all. Either way, he was behaving like a first-class tool.
Get a grip, Dixon, he thought as he made his way back to the elevators. This time he kept his head down, focusing on his phone until the elevator had glided all the way to the fiftieth floor.
Brody paused outside the doors to take in his surroundings. The corporate headquarters of Grant Industries did a damn fine job reflecting the personality of the man who sat at its helm. With floor-to-ceiling windows and a color scheme that could best be described as none, the reception area of Cole’s office was stark, austere, and judging by the look of the sculpture in the corner, expensive.
“Lalique,” the woman at the desk said from behind black-framed glasses. Brody nodded like that meant something to him. He was about to give her his name when she added, “Mr. Grant will be right with you.”
A wall of glass separated the reception area from the executive offices. Through it, Brody could see Cole, rounding his assistant’s desk as strode toward the double doors. Perk or pitfall of a modern era, but thanks to the elaborate check-in process in the lobby of most office buildings, it was damn near impossible to surprise someone with an impromptu visit these days. Spontaneity was dead, replaced by an email notification with the visitor’s name and photo.
They’d even made him register, despite the fact that both his name and photo were on the front page of the sports section the security guard had on his desk. But procedure was procedure, something Brody understood. A thought occurred to him just as Cole reached the small waiting area. If his photo existed in the system, then so did his mystery jogger’s. Perhaps he could ask his friend about accessing the building’s security log-ins? The idea had no sooner crossed his mind when he realized just how crazy it sounded.
“That didn’t take long,” Cole said, shaking Brody’s hand.
“The elevator ride?” With the detour, it had actually taken a lot longer than it should have.
“No. You showing up.” He motioned for Brody to follow him. “Figured I wouldn’t hear from you until you’d worked your way through all the strip clubs.”
“We can’t all be disgustingly happily married men.”
&n
bsp; “And we can’t all spend our days playing with balls and our nights playing with kittens.”
One foursome with a few of the Pussycat Dolls and a guy could never live it down. “That was a long time ago.” Right around the time of his Heisman win if he wasn’t mistaken. “And besides, I didn’t even know you then.”
Brody had met Cole through their mutual friend, Matthew Miller, about the time Matthew started handling all of Brody’s finances. Miller was a solid dude, dependable and honest and about as smart as they came. He was also engaged to be married by the time Brody met him, which meant golf and lunch were the extent of their out-of-the-office fraternizations. Cole, on the other hand, was single and loving every minute of it. So while he started out as a cart mate during off-season golf, he’d quickly turned into a wingman at off-season parties.
“Doesn’t matter.” Cole shook his head and laughed. “The legend lives on.”
“Well, those days are over. At least for now.”
Cole led him to a set of double doors at the end of the hall. Like the rest of the floor, Cole’s private office was decorated in a minimalist, modern fashion. The entire room was white, with the exception of some crazy-ass pillows tossed in the corner of the couches. Brody didn’t know much about interior design, but even he knew those stuck out like a sore thumb. Not that it mattered, because who had time to dwell on pillows or even furniture when the entire room was a giant fishbowl offering breathtaking views of the city?
Brody whistled through his teeth. “Nice digs, man.”
“Thanks.” Cole gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk. “Now, take a seat and tell me what has the notorious Brody Dixon sidelined.”
Brody sank into the chair on an exaggerated exhale. “My wings have been clipped. I need to lie low and hang out with boring people.” He grinned. “Like you.”
“Dick.”
Brody laughed. “When was the last time you went to a club, strip or otherwise?”
Cole stopped short as he rounded his desk, and a crease formed between his brows.
“Save the brain cells. I don’t need exact dates. What I need is something to do that won’t get my photo splashed across a tabloid.”
Cole lowered himself into a chair that looked like it should have been at the helm of the Starship Enterprise. “And you figured I was your man?”
“I believe that blank you just drew confirms I made the right call.”
“To be fair, I’ve got a pretty decent excuse.”
“What?” Brody chuckled. “Olivia has your balls in her purse?”
“No, she’s got my kid in her belly.”
There was a long pause while the words ricocheted around Brody’s brain. When the pinging finally stopped, he began to laugh. But then it occurred to him that Cole might not have been joking. “Wait, are you serious?”
Cole nodded. The expression on his face was equal parts triumph and relief. “We haven’t really started telling people yet. In fact, we haven’t told anyone. Olivia wanted to wait until she was past the first three months, but it’s been so hard keeping it quiet. I mean, the woman I love is growing my baby inside her, and I’m supposed to act like the only thing that matters is mergers and acquisitions? I tell you, keeping the lid on a multimillion-dollar deal is nothing compared to holding back on passing out cigars.” He leaned back in his seat and rested his ankle on his knee. “Nearly let it slip to my sister at lunch.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“Better be,” Cole said. “Or she really will put my balls in her backpack.”
Brody placed his hand on his chest. “Scout’s honor.”
Cole rolled his eyes. “Like you were ever a Boy Scout.” He laughed. “But either way, keep your mouth shut. I’m rather fond of my testicles.”
A wide grin spread across Brody’s face. “That’s amazing news, man. Congrats, seriously.”
“Thanks. It was a bit of a shock to be honest.”
Brody leaned forward and lowered his voice to the hushed monotone of an instructional video. “Well, you see, when a man puts his penis inside a woman’s—”
“I know how it happened, asshole.”
Brody chuckled as he slumped back into his chair. “This wasn’t planned, I take it?”
Cole shrugged. “We’d talked about having kids. Just not so soon.”
“It’s not like you’re too young.” He glanced around the office. “And you can certainly afford it.”
“Olivia wants to keep working, which means she’ll be climbing around on rocks and wading through swamps. And what’s she going to do once the baby is born, strap it into one of those little pouches and handcuff herself to a wrecking ball?”
“And you think if you waited a year or two, she would stop caring about her passions?” Brody shook his head. “Dude, I haven’t met her yet, and even I know that won’t happen.”
“No, but if I had more time, maybe I could convince her to work from an office and let other people trudge around the sites. What if she topples over? Or if one of those bats bites her? Or what if she gets arrested because she’s chained herself to a fence or something?”
Brody couldn’t fight the laugh that rumbled inside his chest. His friend, the man who ruled an empire with an iron fist, had been brought to his knees by a hippie humanitarian.
A deep frown knit Cole’s brow. “What’s so funny?”
“You. You’re one pussy-whipped mofo, do you know that?”
Cole’s face grew red. “Just wait. It will happen to you someday, and when it does, you can bet your ass I will be there to remind you of this conversation.”
“Okay, okay,” Brody said, trying his best to keep a straight face but failing miserably. “Look, nothing about you and Olivia has been traditional, so why start now? And from what I do know of your lovely bride, she’s going to make a great mom. It’s you I’m worried about. I mean, do you even know how to throw a ball?”
“Asshole.”
“Prick,” Brody shot back. The two men grinned at each other for a beat before Brody slapped his palms on his thighs. “This calls for a celebration. Drinks at The Underground?”
“I thought you were supposed to be keeping a low profile?”
Fuck. This edict was already putting a serious kink in his lifestyle, and it had only been one day. Forget low profile. He might as well join a monastery.
Cole rubbed his hand over his jaw. “Tell you what. Why don’t you come by Saturday night? We’re having a little get-together to celebrate the holiday weekend—nothing huge, just our closest friends. And Conor,” he added with a laugh. “Olivia and I can make the big announcement, and then we men can smoke a few stogies on the terrace. And I can assure you, there won’t be a photographer in sight.”
Perfect, Brody thought. A quiet night celebrating Memorial Day weekend with happily boring friends was just what the doctor, not to mention his agent and publicist, ordered. After all, how much trouble could he get into hanging out with a now-reformed CEO and his pregnant bride?
Chapter Four
Rebecca turned the corner onto Lake Shore Drive just as a black armor-plated SUV pulled up in front of her brother’s building. A driver in a dark suit and mirrored aviator sunglasses emerged from the front seat to open the rear door. But Rebecca didn’t need to wait for the passenger to step out of the car to know who it was. Not unless there was more than one person who drove around Chicago with diplomatic license plates and a royal crest. It wasn’t the most inconspicuous way to get around town, but then again, you couldn’t really expect low-key when your fiancé was a prince. And not as in “he’s a real prince of a guy.” Nope. Henry, or Hank as he was known to his closest friends, was an honest-to-god prince.
Cassie had met him in June when she’d attended her brother Matthew’s wedding in a quaint little town just outside Atlanta. She’d rented out a local bakery in order to prepare the couple’s wedding cake and was working there the night Henry came in asking for directions. Except he didn’t show up a
s Prince Henry William Arthur George, but as Hank Green, an “Average Joe” in town for a mate’s wedding. Little did he know that she was his mate’s kid sister, and little did she know he was a real-life prince. Two cases of mistaken identity and one batch of burned cupcakes later, and now there they were, ready to tie the royal knot. The whole thing, from their courtship to their breakup and dramatic reunion, was the most romantic story Rebecca had ever heard. In fact, it was almost enough to give her hope that she might find her own Prince Charming one day. Crown and sash not required.
“Need a hand?” she asked as her sister-in-law’s best friend slid out of the back seat. A stray auburn curl fell into Cassie’s eyes as she tried to steady a large pink box. Rebecca knew from experience that the pink cardboard tied with a lime-green bow meant only one thing: delicious gourmet cupcakes from Sugar Rush, the bakery Cassie had opened last year in Millennium Park. Rebecca assumed her days in the bakery would be coming to an end soon—what with a kingdom to rule across the ocean—but she secretly hoped the pink boxes would still surface at parties from time to time.
“Thanks,” Cassie said, handing Rebecca the box of cupcakes. “Let me just grab the chips, and we can ride up together.” She reached inside the car for two reusable grocery bags filled to the brim with packages of tortilla chips.
“Expecting an army?” Rebecca asked.
Cassie laughed. “No, but Olivia’s message said she’d been craving guac so…”
At the mention of the word “craving,” the two women exchanged a look that very clearly said “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” but before either one could say something, the doorman greeted them with a tip of his hat.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said as he yanked open the oversized glass door. “The Grants are expecting you.” He followed them to the last elevator, sliding a keycard into the panel that would allow them access to the penthouse before resuming his post at the front.
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