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What an ass.
“Excuse me,” Mary Paige said, scooting her chair back. “If this is only about making money, I’ll have to decline.”
Brennan cocked his head. “Decline?”
Mr. Henry waved a hand. “Rest assured, dear girl. This is not about the bottom line, but the greater good. It’s about what you showed an old bum who had a need. It’s about the milk of human kindness.”
“But the bottom line is important,” his grandson persisted.
Mary Paige directed her attention to the ass. “I’m not interested in tricking people so you can make a buck. It’s deceitful to pretend the holiday is about showing love to your fellow man when you have a different motivation behind it. I can’t imagine something so…”
His eyes clouded.
“Well, let’s just say, I’ll not be part of it.” She turned her attention to Mr. Henry as she rose. Something about Brennan made her uncomfortable. Not just his concern for the almighty buck, but his distaste for his grandfather’s plan. She could feel cynicism sheet off him in waves.
And maybe part of her discomfort was she was attracted to the man…a man who was about as far away from her usual type as she could get. Scary. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Henry, but I’m not interested in being the Spirit of Christmas for Henry Department Stores.”
Brennan stood politely, ever the Southern gentleman, a mixture of triumph and relief on his face. “So you’ll be returning the check, then?”
CHAPTER THREE
BRENNAN WATCHED THE blonde with interest. What would she say at the thought of handing that two-million-dollar check back to his grandfather? Sure, she could buy a man a cup of coffee, but anyone could have done that…even an ax murderer. Here was the litmus test of her character.
Mary Paige shot him a look that curled something in his gut, and he felt the way he had when he’d disappointed someone he cared about. Except he didn’t care about this woman. So why did she make him feel like scum? His job was to take care of his grandfather and this company, and that included safeguarding the bottom line. Lord, she made it sound like it was wrong to pursue profit.
“Of course I’ll give the money back,” she said, picking up her purse. “I certainly wouldn’t keep it if I couldn’t uphold my end of the deal.”
“No, please wait, Miss Gentry,” his grandfather said, standing and waving a gentling hand in her direction. “I think you’ve gotten off on the wrong foot with my grandson. Brennan doesn’t mean to come across so harshly. He’s looking out—”
“For this company.” Brennan gave his grandfather a nod that said he could fight his own battles. “I’m sorry if that offends you, but we’re a business and thus responsible to our shareholders and employees to, you know, make a profit—nasty word, though it is.”
She hesitated and he wondered if this was what she’d been after in the first place. Was she faking do-gooder or was she sincere? He couldn’t tell. He’d never been great at reading women. His grandfather alone had raised him and there hadn’t been a steady female influence in his life, so he didn’t always trust the fairer sex. The women he was accustomed to were soothed by pretty words and shiny baubles…and would never give back two million dollars without a fight.
“Please, sit. Let’s try this again.” It was his one acquiescence to his grandfather. He didn’t like the idea of this whole Spirit of Christmas thing, but after hearing Ellen’s take, the idea had rolled around in his head, carving a comfortable nook in his thoughts of the image the company should present and, yes, the profit generated from the way they positioned themselves.
Ellen smiled. “You’re obviously a good soul, Mary Paige, so I know corporate considerations can be, well, conflicting in their intent.”
Mary Paige nodded. “I’m an accountant, Ellen. I understand the concept.”
An accountant? His mind flashed to her tangle of arms and legs in the lobby…and that interesting piece of Lycra. Something about her wasn’t businesslike and he couldn’t see her chained behind a desk tapping on an enormous calculator.
“Oh, really?” Ellen said, eyeing Mary Paige. “Very interesting.”
Mary Paige shifted her gaze from Ellen to the dog. “Listen, I see what you’re trying to do, Mr. Henry, and it’s admirable. It’s actually a really sweet idea, but I’m not sure I’m comfortable in the limelight.”
His grandfather smiled. “Don’t worry, dear. Brennan will be right beside you every step of the way. We’re not throwing you out front to tap-dance. We want the face of MBH beside you, showing all of the country we here in New Orleans believe in good works and good cheer.”
The hell Brennan would be right beside her. He wasn’t sure what the old man had up his sleeve, but if he thought Brennan would gallop all over this city with a silly grin on his face escorting the clumsy accountant as she put on a dog and pony show spreading Christmas cheer, he was certifiable.
In fact, maybe Brennan needed to pursue that possibility. Testing the old man to certify he was missing a few spokes on his wheel.
“Him?” Mary Paige pointed to Brennan.
“Once upon a time Brennan loved Christmas and his goal in life wasn’t to frighten small children.”
Ellen snorted.
“I’m not interested in promo stunts,” Brennan said. “You like that sort of thing, Grandfather, so you do it.”
“If you want to be the next CEO,” his grandfather said, “the public needs to see you as the face of the company. Not me. Besides, I have a full calendar.”
“And I don’t? I’m trying to run this company, and I don’t think the board of directors would appreciate the future CEO gallivanting around trimming trees and singing carols. I need to maintain a stable public image. This is ridiculous.”
And it was. He was not babysitting his grandfather’s project. If the old man wanted a Spirit of Christmas campaign, fine, but it had nothing to do with Brennan. Besides, it was illogical to spring it on him five weeks before Christmas. It felt a day late, a dollar short and very, very nutty.
“I don’t see how standing next to Scrooge here and faking merry is going to help you spread Christmas cheer.” The light from the window caught Mary Paige’s hair, creating a golden curtain around her pleasant face. He really liked the wholesome thing she had going on. She didn’t wear a lot of makeup or any heavy perfumes. When she’d passed him earlier, she’d smelled light and clean, like fresh laundry and sunshine. Like some crap on a commercial…but, he’d liked it.
And she’d just called him Scrooge.
“It will do more than you know, Mary Paige. Ol’ Scrooge here—” his grandfather gestured toward Brennan “—needs to be a poster boy for Henry’s in this city. I’ve seen him put on a smile when it behooves, and it need behoove him now if he wishes to move on to the large chair in the biggest office. The success of this company is not in the bottom line, but in the values we embrace and show to the world. I’ll let it be known here and now that we have genuine concern for our fellow man. If that is the focus, it trickles down into every square inch of every store across the country.”
Brennan had to mull that one over. Maybe his grandfather had a point. Sometimes it was hard for Brennan to see the forest for the bottom line. His goal was profit, but that alone would not sustain the company.
“I want you to understand, Miss Gentry, that this Spirit of Christmas campaign is not about making more money, but rather bringing something back I’ve been missing for so many years in my own life. It has been too long since I’ve felt the wonder of kindness and the generosity of my fellow man. I know change starts with me. I am looking at the man in the mirror each morning and expecting something more.”
Brennan glanced at Mary Paige and he could see the cogwheels rotating through the windows of those chocolate-brown eyes.
“How can I help?” she asked. “By showing up at events wearing my best smile? How is that going to make anyone feel any more charitable toward a fellow human being?”
“I have a hunch about you, my dear.” The confidence in Malcolm’s expression seemed to say he knew something no one else in the room did. “A very strong hunch about what you can accomplish in even the hardest of hearts.” He then looked at Brennan with a sort of gleam in his eye.
Oh, hell, no. If his grandfather had some sort of notion about Mary Paige performing a bypass on the hardened parts of his ticker, he was sadly mistaken. Brennan wasn’t damaged or bitter. He was merely a realist. And he absolutely did not need another woman in his life—not when he couldn’t seem to shed Creighton at the moment. She’d become like a latex coating on his fingers…preventing him from feeling anything. He really wished he’d left her alone. Wished she’d get the message he’d tried to send her many times over the past few weeks.
So even if he felt a weird interest in the accountant, he wasn’t letting his grandfather cook up some crazy matchmaking scheme with a stranger he’d picked up at a gas station.
But this blonde wasn’t dumb. She narrowed her eyes at the old man then shifted her gaze to him.
“This is about Christmas, right? I mean, you’re not trying to give me a babysitting job with McScrooge here, are you? I’m no miracle worker, Mr. Henry.”
“Babysitting?” Brennan echoed, trying not to frown and scare poor misguided Little Bo Peep. “I’m not the one who fell on my ass in the lobby then crawled across a boardroom to fawn over some cur.”
Izzy lifted her head and gave him a doggy glare as if she knew he’d slighted her.
Brennan tapped the arm of his chair. “Someone might need babysitting, but it’s not the guy wearing the striped tie and sitting in this chair.”
Mary Paige blinked at him, making him feel a little childish for being so defensive. What was wrong with him? He never got emotional during business meetings. Of course, this was one of the strangest meetings, but nevertheless, he had to get hold of the situation. No way would he try to convince her to do this. If she refused, it would likely be game over for his grandfather’s little idea. One less headache for Brennan.
“Before we send out a press release or make any further plans, why not do a test run?” his grandfather said, settling back into his chair and folding his hands across his still-flat stomach.
“Like what?” Mary Paige looked as if she might bolt for the door at any second.
Her reaction to him struck Brennan as odd. Most women found him charming. Okay, not charming, but intriguing. After all, he wasn’t half-bad to look at, had money in the bank and treated them like ladies. What was this chick’s problem? Hadn’t he helped her from her fall, picked up her lipstick and held the door for her? He hadn’t been an ogre. But she’d been treating him like he had horns. It was almost as if she didn’t want to participate in the gig because she’d have to spend time with him.
So he was a bit grumpy this morning. And not totally on board with the whole Spirit of Christmas idea. Was that good reason to act like he was the Antichrist?
Or maybe just anti-Christmas?
Perhaps that was it. The woman was a bona fide Christmas jingle-bell ringer. Probably decorated her whole house with flashing lights and little red-nosed reindeer statues.
“Why not take Miss Gentry down for a cup of that new eggnog coffee they’re brewing at CC’s? Show her your sweet side, grandson o’ mine,” Malcolm said.
It wasn’t a suggestion…it was an order—iron buffered with gentility. His grandfather may have been slurping down the Froot Loops lately, but he was still his grandfather, the man who’d nearly single-handedly built Henry’s into a reputable, reliable chain of department stores with net worth that kept Wall Street’s eye on them. So if Malcolm Henry said “Jump,” folks asked, “How high?” But Brennan wasn’t folks. He was the heir to the throne with the key almost in his pocket. Wasn’t it time he stopped dancing to his grandfather’s tune? “I’m sure Miss Gentry has other business—”
“Yes, I do,” she agreed quickly.
Her eagerness to avoid him stopped him. The woman didn’t even want to go to coffee with him? Good Lord, when was the last time a woman had turned him down? Hardly ever. From the time he’d been knee-high, everyone had jumped to do his bidding, to be his friend, to have some of the limelight given to the Henry name shine on them. But this little accountant didn’t want a thing to do with him…and that made her more interesting than her willingness to hand back the check.
“Maybe we should get better acquainted.” He stood and politely pulled her chair back as she rose.
Her hair swished in front of his nose, releasing a light scent of innocence and simplicity that tumbled him briefly into childhood. He breathed deeply, then exhaled into the silky strands. And he felt her tense in awareness.
Something flared between them, causing an almost uncontrollable urge for naughtiness to overtake him. The wisp of an idea curled into his brain, featuring Mary Paige in silk stockings and a red-and-white Santa-styled push-up bra. Her ass would be spectacular in a garter and thong. And her smile. So warm and promising.
Ellen’s phone went off, drawing everyone’s attention to the BlackBerry jittering on the table. He popped the picture of Mary Paige playing the sexy ingenue from his mind with his handy dandy pin of reality. For heaven’s sake, the woman was wearing some girdle thing that was about as sexy as corn bread.
Mary Paige stepped back, almost brushing against him. “I’m sorry. I’m not playing games with you, Mr. Henry. I’m merely convinced I’m not the right girl to be your holiday spirit. I’ve a lot on my plate, and while the money would be nice, I think it best if I bow out.”
“Coward,” Brennan murmured in her ear before he could catch himself. He had no clue why he’d issued the challenge. What did he care if she stomped out of the office, handed over the check and the whole stupid holiday stunt crashed and burned? He didn’t. But something inside him had balked at watching Miss Mary Sunshine slip through his fingers.
He felt her response—the slight outrage, the nervousness at his presence invading her space and a little bit of the right kind of interest—just before she moved away.
“Okay, maybe just coffee,” she said.
“Splendid,” his grandfather crowed, leaning forward to toss a file onto the table. “Ellen and I have some work to do while you two talk about a partnership that will make this the best season for Henry Department Stores in its history…a season of kindness.”
Brennan ignored his grandfather’s donning of Christmas-colored glasses and gestured toward the door, allowing Mary Paige to slide through before following. He couldn’t stop himself from watching her really nice backside.
She spun around as the boardroom door closed and caught him looking. Her face went pink again and she pointed a finger at him. “If you think I’m sleeping with you, you’re nuts. This is a business meeting.”
His reconnaissance skills with regard to the opposite sex weren’t usually this rusty. While many in New Orleans thought him a playboy, he truly didn’t sleep around that much. He was no walking hormone even as visions of Mary Paige in sexy Santa lingerie had him tilting that way. “Since when is going for coffee code for sex? Jump to conclusions much?”
“So what were you looking at?”
“Whatever you’re wearing that keeps showing under your skirt. Is that a pair of Spanx?”
Her eyes widened right before a vivid red swept up her neck. She jerked at the skirt riding high on her thighs. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe…”
She turned and stalked ahead of him, holding her purse as if it were the last parachute on a plane.
He followed not because he had to, but because something inside him wanted to follow her.
Which didn’t make a damn lick of sense.
CHAPTER FOUR
MALCOLM HENRY, JR. sat in his big office chair and smiled.
He couldn’t have scripted a better meeting between his grandson and that adorable girl. Brennan had taken notice earlier than Malcolm had expected and it tickled him to no end. He was tired of watching a parade of beautiful empty girls wind through his grandson’s life, and he wondered if this Mary Paige could work magic in the life of the person he held dearest.
Not that it had been his original intention—he wasn’t a matchmaker and would never meddle in his grandson’s love life. But when life handed you peaches, you made pie. And as he’d watched the pretty Mary Paige climb into his Bentley with such apprehension, he wondered if fate had pulled a fast one and delivered the very person who might help Brennan find the true meaning of Christmas.
Hell, the true meaning of life.
A real peach.
Malcolm sneezed and it scared the dog curled in his lap.
“Sorry, girl,” he said, scratching under Izzy’s chin. She closed her alert eyes and if a dog could sigh, well, then Izzy sighed. “Such a wonderful creature, aren’t you?”
She didn’t bother to open her eyes. That meant she agreed.
A knock at his office door had him spinning from the view of Poydras Street to face his assistant, Anton “Gator” Perot, who’d been his bodyguard, driver and right-hand man for the past twenty years. Malcolm trusted Gator like he trusted no other. Raised on the bayou backwaters by a grandmother from the Houma tribe, Gator had pulled himself up from near poverty by sheer cunning, guts and smarts. He’d landed in Malcolm’s doorway after refusing to take a job with the Garciano family—a true show of character that paid off when Al Garciano was tossed in the slammer for racketeering.
“I have the pictures from last night on this disk,” Gator said, setting a plastic case on Malcolm’s desk. “Want me to give them to Ellen or send them to the Picayune?”
Malcolm sighed. “Not yet. I’m still waiting to see if Miss Gentry will sign on.”
His assistant raised his eyebrows as he eased into one of the red leather chairs across from Malcolm. “She did look at the check, didn’t she? Two million’s hard to say no to. Don’t think I’ve met a broad who would turn down shoe money like that.”
“This one’s a bit different.”
“Do-gooders usually are.”
“Is that what you think she is? A do-gooder?”
Gator shrugged. “Never would have pinned you for one, either, but turns out you shoulda named that mutt Max.”
“Max? Izzy’s a girl.”
“You know from that cartoon about the Grinch. Remember his dog’s named Max.”
The Grinch, huh? Well, Malcolm supposed it could be said his old shriveled heart had grown three sizes. Or, more accurately, it had repaired itself with a new mission in life.
Six months, three weeks and four days ago, Malcolm had stepped out of the Bentley, heading into the board-of-directors meeting, when a crippling pain struck him. He’d literally dropped to his knees, putting out a hand to a passerby who sidestepped him in panic. Gator had already pulled away from the curb, and there was no one there to help him. He collapsed on the dirty Poydras sidewalk, unable to talk or even breathe.
Someone had called 911 and a doctor dining in a hotel restaurant had seen him from across the street, left his eggs Benedict and administered first aid. By the time Malcolm had reached the hospital, he’d coded twice. The E.R. doctor was on record as stating there wasn’t a prayer’s chance in hell Malcolm would make it.
After a drawn-out surgery where he was nearly declared dead, Malcolm had awoken alone in ICU…and had remained there by himself for four days. When he’d been moved to a private room, he went a whole week seeing no one but his physical therapist, the doctors, nurses and Gator. Brennan had come by once to get him to sign power-of-attorney papers so he could run the company while Malcolm recovered.
