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“You sound as if you’re still very close to your family.”
“Oh, yes. We’re not blood relatives, but we’re still close.” Her gaze strayed back to the photo of the twins. “You’re very fortunate to have two sons. They look like fine children.”
“Thank you.”
Suddenly she realized what should have been obvious at her first glance of Alex’s children. It had taken two people to produce those boys. That meant they had a mother, too.
She glanced at the large, capable-looking hands that clasped his coffee cup. There was no sign of a gold band on any of those long fingers, but that was no guarantee these days.
Was Alex married?
Not that it should make one whit of difference to her, of course. So it was simply polite curiosity, from one business partner to another, that prompted her to ask the next question. “Does your wife take care of the children while you work?”
“Excuse me?”
“As a day care provider myself, I was simply wondering who’s taking care of Jason and Daniel.”
“My housekeeper, Mrs. Gray. She’s been with us for the past few months.”
Simple curiosity, she told herself again. “I know several working couples who would prefer to have someone in their home like that.”
“Mrs. Gray certainly keeps things running smoothly.”
“What kind of work does your wife do?” she asked, abandoning her attempts at subtlety.
“I’m not exactly sure what Tiffany does these days. Right now she’s in Europe.”
Well, that answered her question. Sort of. “I see.”
“We divorced three years ago, Lizzie. She’s on her honeymoon with her new husband.”
She felt a blush warm her cheeks. Darn. He’d probably known what she was angling to find out all along. “I’m sorry.”
He lifted his shoulders in a shrug that would appear casual if it weren’t for the way his knuckles whitened on his coffee cup. “These things happen. One learns from one’s mistakes.”
She felt a stirring of sympathy for him, coupled with a strange urge to reach out and cover his hands with hers. Instead, she placed her empty cup on the table beside her and laced her fingers in her lap. “So,” she said in a blatant attempt to change the subject, “how did you get into the advertising business, Alex?”
The flash of white knuckles disappeared as if it had never been. His charming smile was firmly back in place. “The art of persuasion has interested me from the time I finished college. After my first position with an advertising firm evaporated when the company failed, I decided to establish my own agency.”
“Is that when you met my uncle?”
“Yes, we met through a mutual acquaintance. Roland and I formed a partnership and the rest, as they say, is history.”
She suspected there was probably a lot more to the story, but before she could form her next question, there was a quiet knock on the open door.
Alex glanced over his shoulder, then rose to his feet. “Hello, Jeremy.”
The man who walked into the room looked exactly as Lizzie would have expected from hearing his voice on the phone. At least this wasn’t a surprise, she thought wryly.
Jeremy Ebbet was a few inches short of six feet and a few pounds shy of filling out the shoulders of his pinstriped suit. His hair was dark blond and thinning and his face bore the long-suffering worry lines of a farmer in a drought. After shaking hands with Lizzie and exchanging a few stilted pleasantries, he sat on the edge of the chair beside Alex, set his briefcase on his knees like a grasshopper with a wheat husk and clicked open the lid.
“We appreciate your willingness to clear up this situation so promptly, Miss Hamill,” he said, adjusting his steel-rimmed glasses with a poke of his index finger.
Alex crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair while he listened to Jeremy set the second phase of their plan into motion.
As Alex had advised him, Jeremy emphasized how Roland hadn’t been involved with Whitmore and Hamill for years, and how the company had been running profitably under Alex’s sole control. Lizzie nodded, already prepared for this by the carefully chosen comments Alex had made during their tour.
“Your uncle was in the process of negotiating the sale of his shares when he met with his tragic accident,” Jeremy said, withdrawing a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and passing them to Lizzie. “Here’s a copy of our offer.”
She nibbled on her lower lip as she concentrated on reading, drawing Alex’s attention to her mouth yet again. Her generous, ready-to-break-into-a-smile mouth. Alex had been distracted by it unexpectedly throughout the course of the afternoon. Especially when it had curved with a touch of wistful sweetness while she’d been looking at the picture of his sons.
Damn. She might be going about it in a completely different manner, but if he didn’t maintain control of his thoughts, in her own way Lizzie might prove to be as disruptive to the smooth course of his life as her uncle had been.
Yet another reason to close this deal and get her on a plane back to Packenham Corners. No, Junction. Whatever.
“As you can see,” Jeremy continued, “we have substituted your name for Roland’s, since you are now the sole owner of his fifty percent.”
She stopped nibbling and pursed her lips in a whispered whistle.
The pucker made Alex think about kissing. He shifted in his chair and focused on her hand, the one that would hold a pen.
“Is that what my shares are worth?” she asked in a voice that approached a squeak.
“It’s an excellent offer,” Jeremy said.
“Lord love a duck.”
“Excuse me?”
“I had no idea.” She looked up, turning toward Alex. “This is so fast. I just found out I own half the company, and now you want to buy me out?”
Alex wrenched his gaze from her mouth and met her eyes. “It must be overwhelming for you, but I’m sure you see that it would be the best solution for everyone.” He paused a moment before adding the final nail. “It’s what Roland would have wanted.”
“But I had thought that…I mean, when you arranged for me to come all the way out here…” She trailed off, shaking her head as she looked at the paper in her hand. “Do you mind if I take this back to the hotel with me?”
“Go ahead,” Alex said. “Take all the time you want to consider it, Lizzie. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
“Thanks. I need to think about this.”
Alex pushed back his sleeve and checked his watch. “Let’s continue this discussion tomorrow. In the meantime, why don’t we grab dinner and then catch a Broadway show? I understand this is your first visit to New York?”
She folded the offer and slipped it into her purse, then smiled and nodded her head.
Like taking candy from—
Rising to his feet, Alex refused to listen to the nagging little voice. He also refused to acknowledge the tug at his pulse as he noted the way his partner’s plain navy blue skirt molded delectably curved thighs as she shifted to stand up.
And the way her lips softened with her smile.
And her eyes sparkled with earthy sensuality.
And the touch of her fingers on his skin when she took his hand sent a shock of heat through his nerves…
But apart from that, everything was progressing according to plan.
THE SCENTS of smoldering candles and expensive perfume were as subtly pervasive as the background hush that permeated the restaurant. The black-suited waiters didn’t bustle, they glided. Polished silverware winked from the white linen tablecloths and tiny lights twinkled in the crystal wineglass Lizzie held. Clutching the stem securely, she lifted it in response to Alex’s toast.
“To New York,” she repeated, taking a healthy sip of the wine Alex had ordered. It was as smooth and sweet as spring water with honey.
“What would you like to see tomorrow?” he asked. “The Statue of Liberty? Times Square? The museum?”
“The Statue of Liberty, I think.”
“Wonderful. It’s been years since I went there.”
She took another sip of wine as she listened to the sound of his voice. She was vaguely aware that he was detailing the tour he planned to take her on tomorrow, but as had happened before, she paid more attention to his voice than to his words. And why not? She might as well enjoy it while she could. His devastating handsomeness, the dazzling restaurant, the wine…come midnight, it would probably all disappear.
That would be a fitting end to this fairy tale, wouldn’t it?
She should have seen it coming. Lord, she must be pathetic to confuse, even for a minute, the attention Alex had been showering on her. He wasn’t being kind. This was purely business. What other possible reason could there have been for someone like him to whisk her to New York and give her flowers and treat her to dinner at a restaurant with no prices on the menu?
Considering what he was willing to pay her for her uncle’s shares, what would the cost of a few roses and a filet mignon matter?
She put down her glass and toyed with her fork, annoyed with herself for the disappointment that was totally misplaced. Her imagination had really gotten the better of her again, that’s all. Of course, he wouldn’t want someone he didn’t know for a partner. Of course, he’d think she would be anxious to sell her half of the company and scuttle back to her stable, safe, secure, happy life in Packenham Junction.
She should have seen it coming, she thought again, poking at a morsel of meat that had already gone cold. She was Auntie Liz. Good old Lizzie. The perpetual baby-sitter and bridesmaid, destined to exist forever on the periphery of other people’s lives.
In a way, there was a fitting irony to the situation. This entire trip, what she’d seen as her one chance at adventure, had the sole purpose of ensuring that she would return home and stay right where she’d always been.
“Is there something wrong with your meal?”
She put down her fork carefully so it wouldn’t clang and disturb the hush. “No, it’s delicious.”
“I could have the waiter bring you something else.”
“Please, don’t bother,” she said, reaching for her wine once more. She knew she shouldn’t be drinking it, considering the fact that she still hadn’t eaten anything today, but swishing dollar-a-mouthful wine through her teeth was another one of those things she might as well enjoy while she could.
Alex had made her a generous offer. Heck, it had more zeros than she’d seen in one place since she’d sneezed while she’d been typing out the day care center’s financial statement. With that much money, she could build a new barn for her stepfather, pay off Jolene and Tim’s mortgage, even pay Zack’s way through Harvard.
That is, if they would accept the money.
What a stubborn bunch her family was. It must hark back to their pioneer roots, when money in the bank was a foreign concept and people bartered for what they needed. Too bad Whitmore and Hamill didn’t make milking machines or something else useful.
Her lips curved at the thought of the immaculately groomed Alex Whitmore being involved with anything as mundane as a milking machine. He probably wouldn’t know which end of a cow to install it on. With his long fingers and firm grip, though, he likely wouldn’t have too much trouble coaxing out the milk by hand.
She glanced across the table, and a slow flush rose to her cheeks at the mental image of Alex with his long, strong fingers turning his attention to such an earthy task. If the way he moved was any indication, there was plenty of physical strength beneath his sophisticated appearance. Plenty of determination behind his good manners, too. He’d have a gentle, purposeful touch, the kind that would soothe and stimulate at the same time. And he’d be murmuring soft words in that deep, love-potion voice of his, and his brown eyes would grow smoky, and…
Lordy, he was one impressive specimen. Maybe it was the excitement of this whole situation, but never in her life had a man made such an immediate impact on her. She wasn’t so naive as to confuse physical attraction for something deeper, yet knowing what it was didn’t do anything to eliminate it.
It had never been that way with Bobby. Even when he’d been stripped to the waist on those hot summer days on her stepfather’s farm, and his shoulders had flexed with the effort of slinging those hay bales around, and his jeans had clung damply to his hips and thighs, she had never felt more than a comfortable kind of interest.
If she ever had the chance to see Alex Whitmore flex his muscles while he was half-naked and gleaming with sweat, she doubted if she would feel anything close to comfortable.
With a sickening clunk, her wineglass tipped over, spilling the remainder of its contents across the tablecloth in a sudden flood.
Alex whipped the linen napkin from his lap and stemmed the flow. “Sorry, I must have jarred the table,” he said.
She knew that he knew that her own fidgeting had been responsible for the mishap, yet he was willing to take the blame in order to spare her embarrassment. He was a regular…prince. A bubble of laughter hiccuped past her lips.
“Would you care for some dessert, Lizzie?” he asked, righting her glass and moving the wine bottle out of her reach.
“No, thank you, Alex.”
“Some coffee? We still have some time before the show starts.”
Oh, Lord, he must think she was on the downhill side of tipsy. She wasn’t even close to the edge, empty stomach or not. Compared to Bobby’s homemade cordial that could clear sinuses and blister paint, this stuff was cream soda. If her faculties were impaired at all, it was from the effects of Alex’s presence, not the wine—the man was too appealing to be legal.
“Is there anything else you’d like, Lizzie?”
Sure, you can strip to the waist and sling some hay bales. “Do you ever do any modeling?” she asked impulsively.
“Excuse me?”
“You know, posing for any of the advertisements the company does.”
He looked startled. “No, we use an outside agency. Why?”
“Oh, I was just wondering. Considering the way you…” She stopped herself before she could blurt something out about the way he looked. “Um, I thought it might cut costs.”
“That particular cost-cutting method hasn’t been necessary so far.”
“Oh. That’s good. I mean, I’m glad Whitmore and Hamill is doing all right.”
“With each campaign we try to find individuals who would match our needs and the client’s expectations. My job consists of coordinating the people who work for me, making sure things run smoothly—”
“Us,” she interrupted.
He lifted an eyebrow.
“Who work for us,” she said, blushing at her own audacity. “I haven’t sold out yet.”
A muscle twitched in his cheek. He pressed the napkin more firmly against the puddle of wine. “Running a company doesn’t suit everyone, Lizzie. Your uncle found it much too restricting. That’s likely why he gradually withdrew from the day-to-day business over the past few years.”
She restrained herself from rolling her eyes. She’d lost count of the number of times Alex had stressed how her uncle had been eager to sell. As an angle of persuasion, it was starting to wear thin.
Besides, the more she heard Alex talk about Roland, the more she suspected there were other reasons behind the imminent end of their partnership. Although Alex hadn’t openly criticized her uncle, obviously they hadn’t gotten along.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t get along with him, did it? She got along with everyone. After all, as Packenham Junction’s perpetual bridesmaid and baby-sitter, she had plenty of experience keeping other people happy. Sure, these New York types were different from the people back home, but under their three-piece suits they were still people, right?
