Читать книгу The Spirit of Christmas - Liz Talley - Страница 12

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.

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 café…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?”

“No,” he said, leaning back in the chair, taking a draw of the dark roast he’d purchased. “But my grandfather usually gets his way. He’s like that.”

“I’m thinking you’re both accustomed to getting your way,” she muttered.

His smile was almost predatory.

Yeah, dangerous.

“At first I thought the idea ludicrous, but the more I think about it the more I like differentiating our stores from the pack. It’s a good message for the holidays. A do-unto-others sort of vibe that seems right in this economy.”

“You’re back to thinking of it as a profit generator.”

He cocked his head. “I’m always thinking of the bottom line, Mary Paige. Always. I can’t apologize for doing my job. I want to be up front and honest here about the reason I’m considering throwing my hat into this promotion blitz—it’s good for the company. And that’s it.”

She nodded, not happy that his only motivation for standing beside her as she became the Spirit of Christmas for Henry Department Stores was money, but appreciating his honesty. It was disappointing a person would be self-serving in the opportunity to help others and revel in the joy of the season. Very sad.

“Okay, I’ll sign on as long as you promise to be a good boy.”

He shrugged. “Who, me?”

She nodded, a bit amazed she was giving directives to a Henry. It was probably the most power she’d held in her hand ever…which felt heady. “Yes, you. I can’t have someone standing beside me scaring the homeless with a frowny face as I serve them Christmas ham.”

“We’re serving ham to the homeless?”

“I don’t know, but whatever Ellen and Mr. Henry have planned for us may put you outside your comfort zone. I’ll be your Spirit of Christmas as long as you summon a little enthusiasm.”

“I can fake merry.”

“That’s really pathetic, but I’ll take that as a yes.”

He extended his hand across the table and she stared at it for a brief second.

Did she really want to commit to spending the next few weeks with this man?

Her brother’s sloppy grin popped into her head, followed closely by her mother’s expression when faced with the mound of bills on the counter.

And then her own towering student loans.

And the animal shelter three streets away from her rented duplex in desperate need of funding.

Yeah, she could suffer through Scrooge for the next month. It wouldn’t be bad. He’d be her shadow. Nothing more. And at the end of it all, she’d take that check and create good with it.

She took his hand, which was warm from the coffee, and tried to ignore how nice it felt as his fingers curled over hers. No stupid tingles or dumb electricity. Just a nice toasty shake that made her feel only slightly fluttery. “Deal.”

He pulled his hand away and stood. “I need to get back. I have a luncheon meeting in thirty minutes, and I’m sure Grandfather will want to go over particulars with you. I’ll let him know we’re in on this Spirit of Christmas.”

She rose, dropped her half-filled cup in the trash can and followed him out the door—which he held for her, of course. As they walked to his office building, she mulled over her decision to do this thing. Was she borrowing trouble? Probably. She didn’t want to acknowledge it, but an attraction to Brennan lurked at the edge of her consciousness. That’s why agreeing to Malcolm Henry, Jr.’s plan felt dangerous. Because of Brennan and the way she kept looking at his stormy gray eyes, his drool-worthy shoulders and the nice butt that peeked through the back slit of his suit jacket.

But she’s wouldn’t be one of his playthings. Oh, she knew his reputation—New Orleans’s own playboy, favorite of the jet-setters and a cousin to those alpha heroes in her mother’s British romance books.

Of course he wasn’t some emotionally stunted Greek tycoon. He was an emotionally stunted New Orleans tycoon.

Surely there was a difference.

And she wasn’t his secretary…or mistress…or nurse.

Mary Paige was her mother’s daughter, Caleb’s sister, future CPA and card-carrying member of the SPCA and about as far from Brennan Henry’s type as a gal could get.

And that was her only reassurance.

They walked into the lobby of the building and she watched Brennan cringe at the large tree near the fountain. The music spilling out was jolly and reminded them of how cold it was outside.

Brennan gave another disgusted glance at the tree flashing in tune and turned to her. “When you get the schedule for whatever they’re planning, will you insure Grandfather forwards it to me so I can sync my calendar? He’s forgetful in his old age.”

“Sure,” she said, shrugging out of his coat, inhaling the scent of his cologne as she surrendered the warmth. “Anything else, master?”

She was being a smart-ass, but didn’t care. She wasn’t his assistant and didn’t have to pass along messages for him. Okay, it wasn’t hard to utter a simple sentence, but still, his presumptuousness irked her.

His eyes glinted approval at her sarcasm, which had a peculiar effect on her stomach. He pointed to the tree. “Yeah, tell him to take down that blinking monstrosity. It’s offensive.”

Mary Paige studied the good-looking miser who seemed to have tumbled from Dickens’s book into the here and now. “Tell him yourself.”