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Well, that part of it wasn’t going to happen. Unfortunately, she knew she was right about Stacy.
As for Brendan— She took a deep breath. Whatever effect the man had on her, she’d just have to ignore it until it went away.
Chapter Two
Claire frowned at her computer screen. The report she was compiling seemed to have lost its charm. The dry recital of statistics and probabilities faded into a background for Stacy’s troubled face.
Or maybe for Brendan’s, looking at her with that quizzical smile of his.
She swung away from the screen, exasperated. It was bad enough that Brendan had made her late for work for the first time in—well, ever. It was worse that he kept intruding on her concentration now that she was here. Work was too important to let anything else interfere with it.
No woman had ever risen to the level of assistant to the president of Gray Enterprises, until she’d managed it. She wasn’t about to stop there, either. CEO. That had a nice sound to it. Harvey Gray wouldn’t want to stay active in the company he’d founded forever. There was no reason why his trusted right hand shouldn’t become his successor, if she played her cards right. Then she’d be safe.
Safe? She rethought her choice of words, appalled. Safety had nothing to do with it. She would never let herself be a victim again, regardless of her position. It was just that encounter with Stacy that upset her.
She glanced around her office, with its Berber carpeting and built-in walnut shelves. When she moved up the ladder, she’d have mahogany, and the door with the frosted-glass window would be replaced by a solid one.
Those little nuances spelled out one’s relative importance to the company. She didn’t have to be content with a cubicle any longer, and if the frosted glass served to isolate her from colleagues, that was just part of success.
A tap at the door startled her. She frowned at the shadow behind the frosted glass before taking a quick look into her pocket mirror. It was probably just her secretary, but it wouldn’t do to be caught looking less than her best.
“Come in.”
But it wasn’t her secretary. Brendan Flanagan, his clerical collar looking decidedly out of place in the capitalist confines of Gray Enterprises, popped his head around the door.
“Hope I’m not disturbing you.”
He was, but she could hardly say so. “How did you find me?” Actually, that was silly. He could have asked Nolie, if he wanted to know anything about her.
He let the door swing shut and crossed to the desk. “I knew you worked for Harvey Gray. Harvey is one of my parishioners.”
So maybe he wasn’t as out of place here as she’d assumed.
“I didn’t realize.” She gestured to the visitor’s chair, which was placed at a distance from her desk—a careful calculation to preserve her air of authority. “Sit down.”
Instead of taking the seat she’d indicated, Brendan propped himself against her desk, intruding into her space. She edged her chair back an inch.
“What brings you here?”
And why was she letting his presence make her feel uncomfortable in her own office? She glanced around the room, mentally contrasting its elegance with the Spartan surroundings of Brendan’s office. This room never failed to assure her that she had it made.
He pulled something out of his suit pocket and put it on her pristine blotter. A fifty-dollar bill.
She stared at it, uncomprehending. “What’s that?”
“It’s from Stacy.”
“Stacy.” That brought her gaze to search his face. “She’s turned up?” She hadn’t realized until that moment that she’d actually been worrying about that ungrateful kid.
Brendan leaned toward her across the desk, his smile inviting her to join him in celebrating. “An hour ago she walked into the church, apologizing. I told her she owed my aunt and uncle the apology, not me.”
“All of you, I think.” She was more relieved than she’d have thought possible. After all, she barely knew the girl, and that was the way she planned to keep it. “I guess that means she’s going to let you help her.”
He lifted an eyebrow, as if she should know the answer to that. “Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, not exactly?” A sense of foreboding gripped her.
“Stacy wants to talk. I figure she can be your first project.”
She could only stare at him, appalled at the very idea. “Project? What on earth are you talking about?”
He waved the bill again. “Our deal. Remember? You agreed that if I was right to trust Stacy, you’d help out with my teens.”
She couldn’t have agreed to any such thing, could she? “I didn’t.”
“You did.” His lips twitched. “You’re not by any chance trying to get out of our deal, are you, Ms. Delany?”
Of course she was. Her mind scrambled frantically for an excuse he’d accept. “You asked me to help them prepare for jobs, that’s all.”
Not deal with abuse. Her stomach clenched.
“If Stacy thought she could get along all right on her own, she’d be less likely to stay in a bad relationship.”
He was more right about that than he probably knew, but that didn’t mean she could do this.
“Stacy wouldn’t want to talk to me. I wasn’t even nice to her.”
“Oddly enough, that seems to have made an impression on her. She said you were real.” He shrugged. “As opposed to me, apparently.”
“Does that bother you?” She jumped at the chance to turn the subject toward him, but he just shook his head.
“This isn’t about me. It’s about Stacy. And the agreement you made.” He leaned toward her across the desk again, his eyes so intent they seemed to probe her soul.
She drew back, putting a few more inches between herself and that magnetic gaze. “I’m not a social worker. I can’t help her.”
“You don’t know that. For some reason, Stacy seems to relate to you.”
Because the girl sensed that Claire had once been where she was? Nonsense. She couldn’t possibly.
“That’s very flattering, but I’ve got my hands full already with my work and the wedding. I can’t take on anything else.”
“You said you would.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he had her, and they both knew it.
There was still a way out of this. If she told Brendan about her past, he’d trip all over himself apologizing for trying to involve her in something so painful to a person with her history.
She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t give him a reason to look at her with pity. Nobody got to pity her.
She came to a reluctant conclusion. “I just have to talk to her, right?”
He shrugged. “I think your conscience will tell you what to do from there.”
If he only knew. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Pastor. My conscience is pretty elastic after a number of years in the business world.”
“I trust you.”
Really, that smile of his ought to be outlawed.
“If I do this, you’re going to owe me big-time.”
“What do you want?”
“We both know that. You cooperate with my plans for the wedding.”
“Only if Nolie and Gabe agree. That’s the other part of our deal, remember?”
“Fine. They’ll agree.” She was confident she knew what Nolie wanted, and Gabe was so in love that he’d do anything that made Nolie happy.
“Then I guess you have a deal, Ms. Delany.” Brendan held out his hand, his face serious but with a smile lurking in those changeable eyes.
She put her hand in his, her apprehension stirring. That wave of warmth hit again. Being prepared didn’t seem to prevent it.
She had to catch her breath before she could speak evenly. “All right, a deal. When do you want me to get together with Stacy?”
“I told her you’d be at the church tonight around nine. Usually some of the kids stop by then, and that’ll make her feel safer.” He got off her desk. “And we’re having dinner with Gabe and Nolie at the Flanagan house at six. We can find out then what kind of wedding they want.”
She glared at him. “You were taking an awful lot for granted, weren’t you?”
“We both get what we want. What’s wrong with that?” He gave her an innocent look she didn’t buy.
“For a minister you’re something of an opportunist, you know that?”
He grinned. “For a businesswoman, you’re something of a do-gooder, Ms. Delany. Maybe we bring out the best in each other.”
“Or the worst.”
He headed for the door. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
Brendan had been trying to figure out Claire’s opinion of the Flanagan family throughout the whole meal, and he didn’t quite have it pegged yet. He forked a bite of his Aunt Siobhan’s excellent apple crumb pie into his mouth and watched while Claire parried Uncle Joe’s questions about the inner workings of Gray Enterprises.
Claire’s polish and sophistication would probably make her at home anywhere, but she definitely hadn’t wanted to attend this family dinner. She’d come, because he hadn’t given her much choice if she wanted his cooperation with the wedding, but she seemed to be doing a great job of resisting the famous Flanagan charm.
He glanced around the long oval table that had been the scene of countless family dinners over three generations of Flanagans. The crowd was smaller than usual tonight, out of deference to the fact that Gabe and Nolie were supposed to be having a quiet evening to plan their wedding.
Only Seth, the brother who came next after Gabe, sat at the table, coaxing his toddler son to try a bite of apple. Davy grinned, snatched the apple slice, and rubbed it through his fine, red-gold hair.
This had been home to Brendan for so long that he sometimes managed to forget his earlier life. Sometimes, but not for long. His father had been Uncle Joe’s brother, after all, and an innocent phrase or gesture could bring that past surging back.
Joe held center stage at the moment, as he so often did, while Siobhan watched him, quietly smiling. He’d turn soon to his favorite subject.
“And did you know that all the Flanagans were members of the Suffolk Fire Department, Ms. Delany?”
“I’ve heard something about that, yes.” Claire’s gaze met Brendan’s. “I guess Brendan broke the family tradition, didn’t he?”
“You’d think that, but you’d be wrong,” Joe said triumphantly. “Brendan might be a minister, but he’s also the chaplain of the fire department.”
Claire’s eyebrows lifted. “Yes, he told me. He’s talented, isn’t he?”
“That’s our Brendan. And he doesn’t just go through the motions. He’s a fully qualified firefighter, too. I’d count on him to take the hose in just as much as I would Gabe or Seth or Ryan.”
“Leave me out of it,” Gabe said. He smiled at Nolie, and the love that shone between them was so bright it hurt to look. “I’ve got another full-time job now.”
“And a good one it is, too,” Joe said quickly.
After an accident on the job left Gabe prone to seizures that ended his career, they’d all feared he’d never be himself again. Then Nolie and the service animals she trained had given him a new purpose in life.
Max, Gabe’s seizure alert dog, lay beside his chair. Gabe and Nolie were totally involved in expanding her services to give more people a fresh start.
They all owed a great deal to Nolie. Brendan wondered, not for the first time, at the strong bond between Nolie and Claire. They seemed such total opposites. Nolie was all warmth and caring, more comfortable in jeans working with her animals than anywhere else.
Claire didn’t look as if she ever wore anything as casual as jeans. Even the clothes she’d chosen for a simple family dinner, black slacks and cream silk shirt, declared that. Against the shirt, her hair was a helmet of burnished copper.
He’d have guessed Claire was the type of woman to have few women friends, obsessed as she seemed to be with her career. Whatever the secret to her bond with Nolie was, Gabe probably knew it, but Gabe wasn’t telling.
“Let’s take our coffee into the living room and be comfortable,” Siobhan suggested. “We can talk about the wedding there.”
Brendan slid his arm around his aunt’s waist as they got up. “That was a wonderful meal.” He kissed her cheek. “As always.”
“You should know,” Seth gibed. “You’re always here.”
“I’m invited,” he retorted. “What’s your excuse?”
Since young Davy chose that moment to throw a bit of apple at his father, Seth didn’t respond. Brendan escaped to the living room.
Seth would get his revenge at some point, of course. That was part of being more like brothers than cousins.
Joe was giving Claire the grand tour of the wall that was covered with fire department photos and citations. He glanced at Gabe, who rolled his eyes. There was no sidetracking Uncle Joe when he got started on his favorite topic.
“That picture is me and my two brothers when we joined up, more years ago than I care to remember,” Joe said, gesturing to a faded black-and-white photo. “We thought we were pretty hot stuff the first time we put those uniforms on.”
Claire leaned closer, studying the picture as if she really were interested in Flanagan family history. “Which one is Brendan’s father?”
His stomach clenched, but at least she’d asked Joe, not him. Joe pointed.
“That’s my brother John, Brendan’s dad. He was a year younger than me.”
And a million miles different in temperament. But probably his uncle was able to remember some of the good things about his little brother.
