Saved by the Bride (Wedding Fever (Carina))

by Lowe, Fiona

  Something about the way she said “manners” had him taking it personally. He prided himself on the way he conducted business. “My company.” He made a slight correction. “My family’s company is run on sound business principles and unlike some people, we don’t run around doing what we please under the guise of fairness.”

  “Sound business principles?” Her voice rose with incredulity. “Does that mean leaving etiquette at the door? If one person from your company had responded to my myriad of letters, faxes, emails and phone calls about the business park, neither of us would be standing here tonight.”

  Um, warehouses. A sound bite echoed in his head. She’d said she wanted to talk to Sean about warehouses. At the time he’d put it down to being part of her playacting scenario because it made no sense. It still didn’t. “What business park?”

  “What business park?” She threw her arms out in disgust. “Oh, please, like there’s more than one in a town this size? This is exactly the sort of AKP crap I’m talking about.”

  “Anni,” the police chief rebuked mildly. “Take a deep breath.”

  “Sorry, Rory.” She threw him an apologetic smile before turning back to Finn, her lips pursed and her eyes hard. “You and your father owe this town one meeting about your plans for the empty warehouses that you own on the south side of the town.”

  And right then his world steadied and he was back on known territory—the business. Numbers had always been far more reliable than people and he loved the company. He lived and breathed it, played and slept with it, and, just lately in this economic climate, worried about it way too much. He folded his arms across his chest, a man in complete control. “You’ve broken the law in vain then, Ms. Jacobson, because AKP Industries doesn’t own a business park in Whitetail.”

  Long, fine fingers slapped her hips. “You’re wrong.”

  He shook his head very slowly, secure in his position. “Unlike you, I’m never wrong.”

  She hooked him with a gaze as clear as a northwoods stream—one that penetrated deeply and zeroed deep into a place he kept hidden. “Rory, show him the copy of the deed.”

  Deed? The chief passed him papers that read “Title of the Whitetail Business Park,” and a yellow “sign here” note was attached with its red arrow pointing directly to a signature. He blinked twice as if the action would change what he saw but nothing could hide the very distinctive and recognizable scrawl of his father.

  Shit. His stomach turned over. Annika was right. He didn’t know what he hated more—that she’d just exposed a hole in his knowledge of the company’s assets, the fact that AKP Industries now owned a business park in the sticks smack in the middle of the worst economic slowdown in the history of the industrialized world or that his father hadn’t told him. A cramp clawed through his chest making it hard to get his breath.

  He felt like a fool. How did a whole freaking town know AKP owned a business park ahead of him? What the hell was the old man up to?

  The cool indifference he usually held on to when he thought about or had to deal with his father melted under the onslaught of betrayal. He’d been working around the clock, filling in when his father failed to turn up to meetings and Sean was treating him like a mushroom—keeping him in the dark and feeding him manure. It had left him wide open, and he sure as hell didn’t appreciate being played or exposed as someone out of his depth and out of control. People were going to pay and payment started right now with someone who had blue eyes, red shoes and the most amazing mouth he was absolutely determined to forget.

  * * *

  When Annika had stood under the stream of hot water in her shower an hour earlier, she’d decided that the best thing for her to do would be to apologize to Finn Callahan and admit she was totally in the wrong over the way she’d gained entry to the lake house.

  And she’d tried, but when his stormy, coal-black eyes had raked over her, followed up by his self-righteous, rich-man-I-own-the-world high horse, she’d snapped. Victory had been hers when he’d read the documents.

  Right now though, with his black stubble darker than ever against cheeks that had paled under a tan, she experienced a slight twinge of remorse. Knowing she still had to secure this meeting for the town, she pitched for calm reasonableness. “Finn, it’s late. Let’s start over in the morning after we’ve all had a decent night’s sleep.”

  Silently, he slowly and carefully folded the copy of the deed in half and in half again before sliding it into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket. Every action was precise and deliberate, and she suddenly missed the man with the easy and wicked grin who’d pulled her through the window and laughed with her. A trickle of unease turned into a river, flowing insidiously down to every single cell. Perhaps she’d just made a tactical error in showing him the document. Powerful men—any man for that matter—didn’t take well to being proven wrong.

  He pushed a recalcitrant jet curl off his forehead. “AKP Industries will be in contact.”

  His voice was quiet and reasonable, and she wanted to feel relieved but she’d heard that phrase over and over from the lips of many without anything ever changing, and she no longer trusted it. Whipping out her phone she said, “As backup, I’ll take the contact number of the person in charge of the warehouses.”

  “That won’t be necessary. We’ll be in contact. I give you my word.” His voice deepened as if his word was inexorably linked with his honor.

  Be honorable yourself if you wish to associate with honorable people. The old proverb echoed in her head, ramping up her guilt about climbing through the window. Know when to hold and know when to fold. She reluctantly forced herself to slip her phone back into her pocket.

  Rory smiled the quiet smile he always wore whenever he’d mediated and solved the problem, and unclipped the charge sheet. “So, Mr. Callahan, now you and Anni are finally on the same page and you’re taking the meeting, you’ll be dropping the charges?”

  An ominous black cloud rolled off Finn as his eyes darkened to ebony and stayed fixed on her. “No, the charges stand.”

  What? Forget guilt and remorse—fury unleashed itself off the back of betrayal. “You bastard, you gave me your word.”

  “Oh, my word stands, Annika.” The chill in his voice formed icicles in the warm, summer air. “You on the other hand have to learn that business has a process, and that process has to be followed. Illegal entry, lying and enticement don’t even come close.”

  “Enticement?” She struggled to think what on earth he was talking about and then with a breath-stealing jolt she remembered his question just before he kissed her. How far are you prepared to go to meet Sean? Her stomach rolled at the realization and a wave of self-loathing rocked through her, quickly reigniting her anger at him. “You kissed me because you thought I’d sleep with you to meet your father? God, what sort of people do you normally do business with? No, forget that. What sort of person are you?”

  “Honorable. I do business with people who follow the rules.” His jaw jutted and his eyes flashed with unforgiving intent. “By being charged you get exactly what you want.”

  Panic tangoed in her belly. “How do you figure that?”

  “You get to talk to my father in court.”

  Chapter Three

  At 6:00 a.m. Finn had given up any attempt at sleep and had gone for an early morning run around the lake. The pink streaks of dawn h
ad brought the birds into the sky and he’d caught the red flash of the cardinal, heard the hammering of a woodpecker and watched a flock of Canada geese land on the lake, like planes coming in on an aircraft carrier. Usually, the sights and sounds of the woods soothed him. Not today. If anything the exercise seemed to have increased his sense of disgruntlement.

  Hot, sweaty and hungry, he hit the shower in the main house before heading into the kitchen. There was no food in his cabin because he was only staying the one night and as soon as he’d spoken to his father he was on the helicopter back to Chicago. But before any of that could happen he needed eggs and coffee—facing Sean on an empty stomach was inadvisable.

  The house was deliciously quiet because the guests had used accommodations in Whitetail and the surrounding county. Sunday was Esther’s day off and with the family still asleep after their late night, he was relieved he could have breakfast alone. He whipped open the fridge and examined the contents. He’d just put his hand on the milk when he felt a tug on his T-shirt, and he turned around to see an eight-year-old boy in pajamas holding a toy truck in one hand and a toy sports car in the other.

  “I’m hungry.” The child announced it more as a command than a statement.

  “When I was eight I made my own breakfast,” he said automatically.

  Logan pushed black curls out of his eyes. “Mommy says I can only make pancakes when there’s someone else in the kitchen.”

  With his hands full, Finn kicked the fridge door closed. “So, go get your mom.”

  “She’s asleep.” The boy clambered up onto one of the high stools next to the autumn-brown granite counter, expectation and hope clear on his face.

  “Then go ask your fa—” Finn swallowed the word. He didn’t want the kid getting their father up. Not yet anyway.

  “Daddy’s asleep too but you’re not.”

  Finn wanted more than anything to have the kitchen devoid of kid chatter—any chatter—so he could mentally prepare for his “chat” with Sean. That and the fact he had little experience with children and frequently felt out of his depth in their presence. Finn was twenty-five years older than Logan. When that age gap was combined with the fact Finn kept his relationship with Sean strictly business and the Callahan clan rarely gathered together as a family, there’d been few opportunities for the brothers to bond. The result was that his little half brother with the endearing gap-toothed smile was a stranger.

  Finn had never cooked pancakes in his life and had no clue how to start. “I’m making eggs. Would you like that?”

  “I don’t like eggs.”

  Finn pulled three boxes of cereal out of a cupboard and pushed them across the counter. “How about you choose one of these instead?”

  Logan got a mulish look. “You’re grumpy in the mornings just like Daddy.”

  The comparison stung. “I am not.” He picked up the box containing the most sugar—a cereal he knew Bridey ate on vacation but he figured any parent would refuse to serve it to their kid. He poured a generous serving into a bowl and pushed it across to Logan.

  The little boy picked up a bright green circle of cereal. “Mommy says Daddy has to have his paper, his coffee and his toast before we can talk to him.”

  A similar accusation had once been leveled at Finn by an ex-girlfriend and he’d denied it then as well. The only thing he shared in common with his father was business acumen. He picked up the gallon of milk in preparation to pour it on Logan’s cereal.

  The boy’s hand shot out. “I’m not little. I can do it.”

  Finn put the plastic container down and turned the handle toward Logan. This was a perfect example of why he didn’t get kids. One minute Logan wanted him to cook pancakes and the next he was Mr. Independent, risking sending a gallon of milk spewing everywhere. Kids! He swallowed against the zip of frustration he knew he should curb and tried for conversation. “Why didn’t you sleep in?”

  The boy stared at him as if he’d come from Mars. “Why would I do that?”

  Finn sighed. This was all too hard and with the issue of the warehouses to sort out, he didn’t have the head space to try and get to know his brother today. “Why don’t you go watch cartoons while you eat that?”

  The kid’s wide-eyed look told him Dana probably had a “no TV while eating” ban. “Here, take these cookies too.” He shoved a bag of chocolate chip cookies at him.

  Logan didn’t pause to question this largesse and scooted off with his unexpected windfall.

  Finn breathed a sigh of relief and willed the coffee to drip faster. He hadn’t cooked in this kitchen in years, but despite different women being in domestic command, some things never changed and that was mostly because of Esther, their longtime housekeeper. He quickly found a frying pan and started cooking eggs.

  “Oh, is that coffee?” Bridey walked in from outside dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. “Finn? In a kitchen? Where’s my camera?”

  So much for a quiet breakfast. “Very funny, just don’t tell Esther.” He poured the now-brewed coffee into two mugs, took a long slug from one and handed the other one to his sister. “Where’s your guy?”

  Bridey shot him an infuriated look. “Hank, Finn. His name is Hank.”

  “Someone’s testy this morning.” He pressed down the toaster. Hank was the very quiet head engineer at the Illinois plant, and the fact that he’d actually had the balls to propose to his vivacious sister still surprised Finn. The fact she’d said yes had stunned him even more. “Okay, where’s Hank?”

  “On the phone.” Bridey sighed. “He’s talking the covering engineer through a problem with machine number four and it doesn’t sound hopeful.”

  Machine four had been temperamental since its installation two years ago but his father had overseen the implementation and dealt with the ongoing issues. It was Sean’s problem, not his. “Does Dad know?”

  “If they can’t get it restarted, he soon will.” Bridey buttered the toast roughly. “Sometimes I wish the business would just go away.” She stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows toward the lake with a wistful expression on her face. “Do you remember the zip line between the tree house and that old beech tree that crossed the finger of the lake?”

  Finn flipped the eggs onto the toast before tossing the pan in the sink. “I remember the yelling and the arguments Mom and Dad had about it. It was the summer they separated.”

  Bridey didn’t seem to hear as she rested her chin in her hands. “I loved it. I loved the way the wind would tear at my hair before I dropped into the water.”

  “You used to scream like a banshee.”

  “That was half the fun.” She bit into the eggs and chewed thoughtfully. “How long since we had a summer at the lake together?”

  The question made him pause and he had to calculate back a long way. “Probably my last year of college. You’d just graduated high school.” It was the year his grandfather had died and his father had married Dana.

  With the death of his grandfather, he’d lost the reason to visit Kylemore and he hadn’t been near the place for years until last year when the island had come on the market. In a moment of uncharacteristic nostalgia, probably induced by the heat of Mexico, he’d bought it at auction, by phone. He only visited when he knew the rest of the family would be in Chicago—his time was winter and fall.

  He mopped the broken yolk with his toast, planning one more cup of coffee before texting his father to schedule a meeting. He realized with a start that B
ridey was talking again. “What did you say?”

  “We should do it again.”

  “Do what?”

  His sister had that starry-eyed look she got when she thought she had a great idea and it was always underpinned by deadly determination. “Have a true Callahan summer here like we used to have when we were kids. One last summer all together before I get married.”

  The idea gave him goose bumps. “Exactly which summers are you remembering so fondly, B?”

  But Bridey was on a roll and either she didn’t hear him or she chose to ignore him. “Logan’s such a great age now and we could do all the stuff with him that Grandpa did with us. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  The thought of spending more than one day in the arms of his family made him flinch. “Count me out, Bridey. You don’t need me now you’ve got Hank to play with.”

  “At least think about it. Two weeks. One even.”

  Her voice implored the way it did every time she wanted something her own way, but he wasn’t his father and he wasn’t malleable Hank so it cut no ice with him. Hearing the creak of the front door, he figured his father was up and out looking for the paper. “I came to your party and I’ll be at your wedding, but I can’t give you a summer.” He dropped a brotherly kiss on her hair. “I have to talk to Dad and then I’m outta here.”

  Ignoring the sage advice of his little brother that their father needed coffee and breakfast before talking to anyone, he walked outside. He met Sean jogging back from the gate looking remarkably fit with the Sunday paper in his hand. Finn begrudgingly acknowledged that for a guy of fifty-seven, Sean hadn’t let himself go. Although it was probably more accurate to say Dana hadn’t allowed that to happen. The old man still turned heads wherever he went and his Irish charm—when he chose to turn it on—could sell ice creams to Eskimos. Or in his case, paper and packaging to America and beyond. The man was a business legend and from that perspective, Finn had learned a lot from him. But their relationship was much more “business associates” than “father and son.” Finn had no problem with that at all.