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Malcolm had received tons of flowers, plants and baskets of cookies, but no visitors.
And that had done something to him.
The reality of being Malcolm Henry, Jr., CEO of MBH, had slammed into him with the same crippling velocity of a massive heart attack. He was a shadow of a man who no one knew and, worse, no one really cared about.
And the realization had hurt.
And it had sobered.
And it had changed him.
As he worked to heal himself physically—changing his eating habits, work habits and exercise habits—he’d looked really hard at his life and what it represented and found it sadly lacking in the fundamentals of happiness.
He had no family who cared for him, save Brennan, who was headed down the same dead-end street Malcolm had already trod, and Ellen, who was focused on healing from a bitter divorce. His only other kin, his nephew Asher, lived in Europe and seldom visited. Malcolm had no true peace. No true purpose other than making money. No warmth of human kindness to buffet him when a cold wind blew. His life was a yawning pit of darkness with no light beckoning.
Malcolm needed a role model, someone to show him what true joy was. So he went to the bookstore and bought biographies on people who’d embodied it—Mother Teresa, Ghandi and the Apostle Paul. He read about their lives of service, about their lack of self-importance, about their sheer passion for living.
And his heart had grown three sizes.
“Maybe I should have named her Max,” he said, rubbing her head and earning an adoring swipe of her tongue on his wrist. “I sent Brennan with Miss Gentry for a coffee. Right now, they don’t see eye to eye on this endeavor.”
Gator raised his eyebrows, making his thin, nearly feral face more attractive. He looked fierce but was putty in the hands of old ladies, small children and cats. Who woulda thunk?
“Brennan is a tough cookie, boss. He might eat Miss Gentry for lunch and pick his teeth with her pinky finger.”
Malcolm smiled.
“What?” Gator grinned, a sort of dawning in his eyes. “You’re not playing matchmaker, are you? She’s not his type. He likes women who scratch.”
“I have a sneaking suspicion Miss Mary Paige isn’t as docile as she appears. She reminds me of a girl I once knew. And this isn’t about matchmaking. It’s more like waking Brennan from his money-drunk stupor.”
Before it could take root, he struck the thought of Grace from his mind because it still smarted to think about his first love. She’d broken his heart and danced away with some schmuck from River Ridge after Malcolm had offered to set her up as his mistress. Who could blame her for wanting a full and respectable life, for refusing a man who would marry the “right” kind of girl while keeping the “wrong” one on speed dial? Malcolm had been too afraid of his father to choose Grace over adding to the family fortune as expected, so he’d lost her. And Malcolm hated losing.
“Well, let’s hope they find some way to make this happen. Don’t think you have time to play Hobo Hal again, and truthfully, I don’t wanna sit in that Dumpster again. Got a sensitive nose, and I still can’t get rid of the scent of rotten milk and molding bread.”
“Pansy-ass,” Malcolm drawled, spinning toward the window and the busy city cranking like gears on a clock spread before him.
“Managing mama hen,” Gator said.
Malcolm had to think about that. “Oh, I don’t have to do any managing of those two. I’m banking on something wonderful happening this Christmas.”
Gator harrumphed.
“Besides Brennan knows the score. He wants to be CEO. I want Mary Paige as my Spirit of Christmas. He better make it happen.”
“And you always get what you want.”
Malcolm smiled. “Usually.”
* * *
MARY PAIGE SCOOTED to one side of the elevator and pretended that she hadn’t made a fool of herself.
Of course, he had been looking at her stupid Spanx and not her butt. It was very evident the man wasn’t interested in someone like her. She’d seen his preferred type of woman earlier and Mary Paige was as far from put-together sophistication as a gal could get.
Not that she didn’t try.
She wanted to be a confident, well-dressed career girl. To have a duplex uptown, shop in decent stores and get her hair cut in salons that offered tea while she waited.
But she hadn’t gotten there yet. And she may never arrive at that particular destination if she let herself get sidetracked.
“I’m assuming you like coffee since my grandfather has sent us out on a playdate for the stuff?” Brennan asked, shrugging into his overcoat as the elevator descended. An older woman with puffy graying hair had handed it to him as they’d approached the lobby of MBH, making Mary Paige wonder how the woman had known he needed the coat. Psychic assistant?
“Uh, sure. Though I usually go for tea.”
“They have tea.”
And that was their brilliant conversation in the elevator.
They walked out of the building, greeted by a cold wind whipping around the corner. Mary Paige shivered and wished she hadn’t left her sweater behind that morning. Brennan quickly took off his coat and handed it to her.
“No, I’m fine. It’s a short walk.”
He jabbed it toward her again. “I insist.”
She tried not to sigh her frustration. He was already acting as though he had to babysit her. She didn’t need his damn coat because it wasn’t like they were in Minnesota. It was only forty-three degrees—she wouldn’t freeze walking three doors down. But she took the dark cashmere coat and draped it over her shoulders.
It was warm and smelled like expensive men’s cologne and for a brief moment, she felt safer.
Which was idiotic.
“Thank you. You’re quite the gentleman.”
He looked at her and stuck his hands into his pants pockets. “I try.”
Monday morning in New Orleans swirled around them with businessmen hurrying toward offices, tourists sleepily contemplating maps and street signs and the French Quarter homeless folks lolling in doorways, siphoning heat from open souvenir shops.
CC’s smelled like her mama’s kitchen, resplendent with the scents of comforting coffee and pound cake baking. Tinkling jazz was overshadowed by the hum of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine.
She approached the counter and perused the menu board. She didn’t usually go to coffeehouses for tea because the prices added up fast. She was an at-home Celestial Seasonings kind of girl. “I’ll have a cup of green tea. That’s it.”
She pulled her wallet from her purse.
“I’ve got it,” Brennan said.
“No, you do not,” she said, shoving a five-dollar bill at the girl behind the register, who took it with an unsure look.
Brennan shrugged, ordered a plain black coffee then reclined in a chair at one of the wooden tables, crossing his legs and looking very intense even in a relaxed posture.
Mary Paige took the cup steaming with fragrance and sat opposite him. “So?”
He gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Kind of an annoyed smile. A make-the-best-of-this smile. “My grandfather has an iron will, if you haven’t noticed.”
“I noticed,” she said, pulling the tea bag from the water and setting it on a pile of napkins. She added one sugar packet then took a sip. It warmed her instantly. “Oh, here’s your coat. Thank you for letting me borrow it.”
He waved a hand. “Keep it until we get back.”
She nodded, mostly because it seemed stupid to argue over a coat when they had more important things to iron out. “About this whole Spirit deal, I get the feeling you’re not on board with it, and I’m unsure exactly what it is I’m taking on and how I can do anything near what your grandfather wants.”
Brennan nodded, pausing a moment as if he were gathering the right words to say. She studied him in the yellowish light of the cafе…at the slight shadow of his beard, the intelligent gray eyes and the thick shock of brown hair, glinting with reddish highlights. He had nice broad shoulders and strong, blunt fingers, and though he wore a well-tailored suit, she could tell he’d look spectacular in athletic shorts and a T-shirt.
Something more than tea warmed her insides.
Okay, horny girl. Stop fantasizing about Scrooge as a man and see him for what he is—a not-so-nice person.
But could she really say that?
No.
She didn’t know the man, and judged him based only on his reaction to the crazy scheme his grandfather had dreamed up and his intent to make a buck from the campaign. That didn’t mean Brennan threw kittens in the lake or elbowed old ladies.
“I agree with you. This whole thing is absurd, but my grandfather’s nutty Spirit of Christmas idea isn’t a bad one. It could be brilliant for our company, bring in a load of customers buying into the whole true-meaning crap. It’s just bothersome to have to spend the time making it happen.”
Okay, he was a bit of an ass.
“Bothersome?” she asked.
“Well, don’t tell me you want to skip all over the city doing Lord only knows what for the entire season? With me?”
He looked hard at her and something crackled between them.
What if?
That question floated out there between them.
Mary Paige snatched it back. “So this is a no-go?”
“I didn’t say that.”
What had he said, then?
Mary Paige cleared her throat. “Listen, I have plans for my life. Plans that don’t include a crazy billionaire and five weeks of standing beside you pretending I want to be there.”
He frowned and looked sort of offended.
“But I like your grandfather. And I like what he’s trying to do. Christmas often feels so commercialized people lose sight of what is truly important.”
“Which is?”
“Family, friends, love.”
“Bah, humbug,” he said with a smile.
She arched an eyebrow she knew needed waxing. Why hadn’t she gone by the mall and attended to her wayward eyebrows? Because she hadn’t known she’d be sitting across from a hot executive having tea.
“I’m trying to bring some humor into this,” he said.
She rolled her eyes.
“Not working?”
She took another sip of tea. “You’re behaving much better.”
“Oh, goody.”
“If we do this, we need to set ground rules.”
“I know. You aren’t sleeping with me.”
She felt the blush sweep her face and wished she had more control of her body. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to—”
“So you will sleep with me?” His gray eyes sparked and for the first time she saw that Brennan’s charm might be way more deadly than expected. The man was downright gorgeous when he offered a genuine smile.
“Uh, that’s not what I meant. I meant I didn’t mean to imply that you were looking at my…uh…my butt in that way.”
“What if I were? You have a nice-looking ass.”
She snapped her mouth closed because it had fallen open again like the country bumpkin she was.
His eyes crinkled and she realized he enjoyed flirting with her. What’s worse, she enjoyed it, too. “Stop playing with me, Brennan.”
“Oh, I haven’t even begun playing with you yet, Mary Paige,” he drawled, his voice dropping an octave, making liquid heat flood her lower body.
Damn him. This man wasn’t anything she should be meddling with.
“Okay, are we doing this or not, Brennan?”
“Doing what?”
“This Spirit of Christmas thing your grandfather wants.”
“Oh, that.”
She didn’t bother with asking him what else he’d been talking about because she knew. And she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction he wanted. “Yes, that. The only thing on the menu.”
His short laugh stroked the imp inside her who really, really liked playing the sexy word games with him. “Actually, I usually prefer things not on the menu, but we’ll see about that, won’t we?”
“No.” She sipped her tea and stared out at people hurrying by the window. She wasn’t allowing herself to go off the menu…she was barely convinced by what was on the menu. Spending time with Brennan felt dangerous, and that appealed to her. Which was peculiar. She didn’t even like him all that much. “In all seriousness, should we do this thing your grandfather has in mind?”
