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Trey Lundberg. Their handsome, widowed father who was about as perfect as a dad could be.
A weight pressed against Emma’s chest. She’d stopped working for Trey three months ago. He’d made his personal interest in her clear and suggested they go out without the girls. Everything Emma wanted—a family of her own and the house with the white picket fence—had been within her grasp. But something had felt off. The idea of a ready-made family appealed to her, but Trey was still grieving the loss of his wife. Any feelings he had for Emma couldn’t be real. Not that soon after burying the mother of his children. The more Emma had thought about going after her dreams with Trey, the more wrong doing so had felt. So she quit.
She shifted the phone to her other ear. “The twins were easy. They’re little.”
“AJ’s grandmother is little. Barely five feet tall from what I’ve heard.”
Emma sighed. “Libby.”
“What? You have all the skills needed for my job. I could never do yours because of the crud and ick factor.”
True. Libby didn’t do crud or ick. She moved ten feet away from people who sneezed. She used two napkins during meals. She carried hand sanitizer at all times.
Emma never minded the messes kids made. Holding tissues during nose blowing. Wiping jelly spots off Abbie’s cheeks. Helping Annie change her sheets before anyone noticed her wet bed.
A lump formed in Emma’s throat, pressed upward. No regrets. She couldn’t work for the Lundbergs when she didn’t have the same feelings for Trey as he had for her. She’d helped find her replacement, trained the new nanny and told the girls to call if they needed anything...anytime.
A wistful, but not unexpected, sigh escaped. She wanted to find that special someone who would take care of her the way she took care of everybody else. Too bad happily-ever-after endings happened only in storybooks, not real life.
Emma cleared her throat. “The cruddy stuff isn’t so bad. There’s lots of fun to be had on the playground, believe it or not.”
Except on the swings. She hated swings.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Libby said.
Emma’s name sounded over the PA system. Every muscle group bunched, including ones she’d never met. Her stomach jangled, a mix of worry and trepidation.
She’d ridden enough elevators and carnival rides to know her tummy’s reaction to weightlessness. Antigravity was her proven enemy, its falling sensation her greatest fear.
She blew out a puff of air. “Time to go.”
“Good luck, not that you need it.”
She swallowed. “Thanks.”
“Have a good flight.”
The line disconnected.
Emma tucked her phone into her tote bag, hand trembling. She swung the leather strap over her shoulder then picked up the cat carrier. “Here we go, Blossom.”
The cat’s snarl sounded like a combination of moan, hiss and spit. An omen of things to come? Emma hoped not.
* * *
The jet taxied on the tarmac in Hillsboro, Oregon. Except for a slight movement of AJ’s tablet on the table in front of his seat and a glance out the window, he wouldn’t have realized they’d landed. Not surprising. His flight crew consisted of top-notch, former military pilots. AJ never worried what was happening in the cockpit. But he was worried about the stranger, a nanny with a cat, who would be his assistant for the next five days. AJ rubbed his chin.
Emma is my best friend. She’s smart and conscientious. A hard worker. She doesn’t like to fly, but trust me. She’s the perfect person, the only person, to take my place while you’re in Haley’s Bay.
Libby had been his personal assistant for two years. He had no reason to doubt her. Relying on her recommendation made more sense than yanking an employee away from other duties or hiring an untested temp from a service. A nanny should be able to follow directions, entertain his brother Ellis’s kids at their grandmother’s birthday party and, most importantly, deal with AJ’s family. He wasn’t a fan of cats, but he hoped the feline would be a distraction. The more attention his family gave the cat, the less they would give AJ. A win-win situation for all involved. Mostly him.
Dad wouldn’t say much, if anything, unless forced to talk by Mom. The man would never forgive AJ for leaving Haley’s Bay and the family business after graduating from college. The fact that he’d bailed out the fishing company during the economic downturn had only made his father resent AJ more. As if he’d had any other choice.
What was he supposed to do? See his family bankrupt and out of work, especially Ellis with a wife and two kids? No way. AJ had the means. Not helping would have been worse. Unthinkable.
He would never apologize to his father or anyone in his family for choosing to make billions with a computer instead of breaking his back working on a boat. AJ regretted nothing. He doubted his dad could say the same thing, if Jack Cole ever decided to talk to his oldest son again.
AJ wasn’t sure how his four younger brothers would react to his being home. Only Grady, the youngest of the family, kept in touch. At least AJ wouldn’t have to worry about the female members of the Cole family.
The Cole women would welcome him home with smiles and hugs. His grandmother, mom and two sisters called, texted, Skyped and visited him as much as they could. Though the four would likely be butting their noses into his life and asking much too personal questions while he was there. His stomach tightened.
Why had he wanted to come back? Oh, yeah. His grandmother’s eightieth birthday.
An alarm sounded. The buzzing filled the cabin and made him glance at his tablet.
A message illuminated the screen. Conference Call—Marketing Department. Libby must have set his clock when he said goodbye at the hospital. The woman was the definition of competent, vital to his success for keeping his life running smoothly.
If only Libby were here with him. Damn appendix. Striking her down in New York. He balled his hands. AJ couldn’t believe Libby had hidden her condition from him until it was almost too late. A foolish move, but one done out of loyalty to him. She knew how much he relied upon her. Or had until leaving him stuck with a nanny from Portland, Oregon.
If AJ didn’t know better, he would think his father planned this. But nothing, not a hospitalized assistant or a cat-carrying nanny, would stop AJ from showing his family how far he’d come. Nothing was going to stop him from making a triumphant return to Haley’s Bay.
Nothing at all.
* * *
Emma stepped outside the terminal, a sunny August sky overhead. Flying was safer during good weather, right?
But the roar of engines weighted her feet like chimney bricks.
For Libby. Step by dragged step, Emma crossed the tarmac toward a new-looking jet. Her heart pounded in her throat.
For Libby. Emma clasped the jet’s railing. Her legs trembled—don’t stumble—and she forced herself to climb the short staircase, one step, then another, followed by two more.
For Libby. Emma stepped into the plane. The hair on the back of her neck and arms prickled, ramrod straight beneath her sweater.
Noise from planes taking off and landing faded. Air-conditioning cooled her skin. The jet’s interior muted tones exuded calm comfort. The plush carpet and cushioned chairs were a hundred and eighty degrees different from flying on a packed 737 with zero legroom and no empty seats. This time might be different.
“Welcome aboard, Miss Markwell.” An attractive woman with long blond hair, a light blue blouse and navy slacks greeted her with a bright, white-tooth smile. “I’m Camille. I’ll be your flight attendant today.”
“Hi, I’m Emma.” She forced a first impression smile and raised the cat carrier, welcoming the distraction. “Is there a place this should go?”
“I have the perfect spot.” Camille took the carrier. “What’s your cat’s name?”
“Not my cat. She’s a foster. Long story. But her name is Blossom. Thank you.”
Camille peered into the carrier. “Hello, Blossom.”
The cat’s growl, a hair-raising, guttural sound, made Emma cringe.
Eyes wide, the flight attendant drew back. Her at-your-service smile faltered. She lifted the carrier away from her body as if radioactive waste filled the inside, then tipped her head to her left. “AJ’s in the cabin.”
“Thank you.”
Emma passed between two forward-facing leather-covered captain’s chairs. Each seat contained a television screen and game controller. The understated look was more luxurious man cave than flashy flaunt of wealth.
The next row faced backward. Someone with a head of thick brown hair occupied the seat to her left.
Attila. Atticus. AJ. This had to be him.
Libby thought the world of her boss, when she wasn’t complaining about AJ. She described him as exacting. “Workaholic” was how Emma imagined him, based on how many hours he kept Libby working. And prompt. Libby said he would fire a manager if a project went over schedule, break up with a woman if she arrived late for a date and eviscerate a chef if forced to wait between courses.
Not everything Emma had heard about AJ Cole was awful. He paid employees well, was a philanthropist and doted on his grandmother, who visited him in Seattle at least once a month. The guy couldn’t be all bad if he was throwing his grandma an eightieth birthday party—make that a soiree.
Voices sounded. Three or four.
Emma didn’t see anyone else on board. She stepped closer.
The brown-haired man sat with a tablet in front of him. Three other faces appeared on the screen. One, a woman, spoke about branding.
Emma glanced from the tablet to her temporary boss. Whoa. A six-foot-plus mass of male hotness sat in the seat. A guy with no beard.
She blinked. Refocused. Still hot. Definitely AJ. She recognized his intense green eyes from the photographs.
Yum. Libby called her boss a nice piece of eye candy, but now that Emma was standing next to AJ Cole, he seemed more like a five-pound box of gourmet chocolates. Mouthwateringly delicious.
His gray suit jacket, expertly tailored, accentuated straight, wide shoulders. Unruly brown hair, curly at the ends, fringed the starched collar of his white dress shirt. His ruggedly handsome features fit perfectly together, making her heart accelerate like a car on a racetrack.
His smoldering gaze met hers.
Her throat tightened. She wished he hadn’t shaved his beard so she wouldn’t find him attractive. Then again, she still might. A photograph couldn’t capture the 3-D version of the living, breathing man.
He motioned with his finger to the seat facing him. A small table separated the two chairs.
Emma removed the tote bag strap from her shoulder and sat. She ignored the conversation from the conference chat, not wanting to eavesdrop. She pressed each button to see what it did. Peering inside the pouch on the side of her seat, she saw a barf bag. She hoped she wouldn’t need it.
The decibel level of the conference call rose. Voices talked over one another. Not quite a debate, but a lively discussion.
Her gaze fell on AJ’s face. Talk about stunning. He laughed at a joke, softening the planes, angles and lines of his face. She focused on his mouth, zeroed in on his lips. Bet he was a good kisser.
What in the world was she doing? Thinking? AJ wasn’t only her boss. He was also Libby’s boss.
Emma looked at her lap. The seat belt ends lay on either side of her. She fastened the buckle and tightened the strap, as if the pressure could squeeze out her nonsensical thoughts before she embarrassed Libby and herself.
So what if the real-life AJ Cole was more attractive than his photographs? He was her boss, not a random guy she could flirt with at Starbucks then breeze out the door without a look back. Besides, he wasn’t her type. She preferred a family man. Not a guy who, according to Libby, hadn’t visited his family in ten years.
“Don’t do that.” AJ’s hard tone made Emma jump. “If any of you disturb Libby while I’m away, you won’t have a job when I return. Understood?”
Not so bad. Emma hadn’t expected him to stick up for Libby.
“See you on Monday,” he added.
The words Don’t bother me were implied.
He tucked his tablet into the side pocket of his seat. “Emma Markwell.”
His deep voice flowed through her veins like warm maple syrup. She fought the urge to melt into her seat. “Hello, Mr. Cole. It’s nice to meet you.”
His critical gaze ran the length of her, scrutinizing, as if she were a line of bad computer code wreaking havoc with his program. This was the man she expected minus the gorgeous face and athletic physique.
“Libby tells me you’re a Martha Stewart–Mary Poppins mash-up, able to master home, hearth and heathen children.”
“I don’t have anything magical to pull out of my tote bag, but I do have a few modern-day equivalents for tricks and can spell supercalifragilisticexpialidocious backward.” Something she’d learned being the nanny of a gifted child one summer.
“So you have no magic, but you brought a homeless cat.”
His eyes were flat, no glint of humor or spark of amusement. Was this the intimidator Libby told Emma to ignore?
“Libby assured me that bringing Blossom was acceptable.” Emma’s voice sounded hoarse. She cleared her throat.
“If it was a problem I would have hired you a cat sitter.” He shrugged off his suit jacket, tossed it onto the seat across the aisle, then buckled his seat belt. “My niece, nephew and cousins’ children will play with the cat. Just keep the beast away from me.”
“Allergic?”
“No.”
Camille picked up the jacket, glanced at the seat belts fastened across their laps, then headed to the front of the jet.
The silence made Emma bristle, reminding her of the impending takeoff. She needed to distract herself. “Not a fan of cats?”
His lips narrowed, reducing their kissability factor by 70 percent. Not that she would ever kiss him.
“If you must know, they’re pampered, vile creatures. I don’t see the appeal.”
His good looks had sparked an initial attraction, but his fire-extinguishing personality was making sure no flames erupted. She, as his employee, should let his words drop and discuss what her job responsibilities would be. But the cat lover in her couldn’t do that. Nor could the friend in her, either. His lack of warmth and understanding he displayed with the cat probably also translated to his overworking Libby to the point of her almost dying.
“Blossom is not a pampered cat, Mr. Cole. Her owner died. The family didn’t want to be bothered so surrendered the cat to an animal control facility in California. She ended up on a kill list. The shelter I volunteer for in Portland stepped in to rescue her. Blossom lived with thirty-five other cats until the space flooded yesterday. She had to come with me as a foster or spend the next week in a metal cage at a vet’s office.”
“Not pampered.” He sounded more amused than irritated. “I stand corrected.”
“Thank you for admitting that.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
Libby had said AJ didn’t like being wrong. Emma didn’t want to annoy him or upset him, but she had more to say. She scraped her teeth across her lower lip. “I’ve said too much.”
“Perhaps, but I’d like to know.”
Libby had told Emma to do what he requested without asking too many questions. But this probably wasn’t what her friend meant.
